Cryptic
by tracer2032
Summary: Secrets are meant to remain hidden, unspoken. Revelation brings pain, anger, and in the case of Atchison it means death.
1. Arrival

**Cryptic**

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything SN related, but I'm working on it, however I doubt Kripke takes my threats/pleas seriously. I mean I did get that restraining order but I think he was joking.

**Note**: The story is a continuation of Dean and Sam's states from my other stories. However, this can be read stand alone. Just letting you know that I will reference them.

* * *

Sam extended his neck, his glassed eyes fixed on the review mirror that revealed an exhausted Dean stretched out along the backseat, his head propped against the door by the stolen motel pillow and his body hidden under the ratty blanket Sam had taken as well. Most people would define the image of his sleeping brother as serenity or sweet slumber, Sam would argue against that wholeheartedly because he knew the real reason for the sight playing out behind him.

The younger chose instead to label the sleep as forced, a sign of the elder's body refusing to function unless he granted it rest. Dean's face was pale and drawn; a mirror of the weakened and tired state the last job had left him in. His face etched with the remnants of pain, both physical and emotional, that hadn't had time to adequately heal.

Sam settled back down in the seat and threw another glance over his shoulder before focusing back on the empty black road ahead. He clenched his jaw in frustration and wished like never before that his brother were awake so he'd have someone to yell at, his anger level was reaching critical mass and he needed an outlet and he needed it now.

He couldn't believe his father had sent them another set of coordinates so soon, but then again, how the hell would he know what all they'd been through the past week? Sam was livid at his father's appearance of not caring about their well being, their need to recuperate and regroup, to mend the wounds that ran so deep. Dean had almost died, for Christ's sake and the man hadn't even flinched when issuing a new hunt and to the youngest, the man's lack of knowledge concerning their present state was not an excuse and never would be.

But Sam had made sure his father knew that and had told him exactly how he felt about him sending them another mission. The phone call had only caused Dean to stir, but had awakened him completely. From the minute he read the message Sam adamantly refused to go, yet knew Dean never would. So, for the benefit of his older brother and his personal vendetta, he quietly sneaked out of the room and left the voice message from Hell for his doting father and upon returning, stuffed Dean's phone deep into his backpack concealing it from his brother's loyal eyes.

But his plan had backfired, not more than a day and a half later, in a major way. He'd left an awakened, bored out of his mind Dean alone in the room forcing him to rest while he showered. John had replied and Dean had answered. Sam cursed himself for his carelessness the minute he exited the bathroom finding his wavering brother, one hand clenching the table to steady himself, the other grasping the loathed cell phone. Sam had cringed when he saw that Dean was looking at him as if he was Judas himself.

Dean refused to rest after that. Instead, the elder insisted he was fine, and ready to go on to the next job. Within the hour, Dean had all his stuff packed and in the Impala. Sam was still baffled as to how his brother had pulled that off. He'd looked like crap, and still did for that matter and could barely hold himself upright, and Sam knew he must've felt ten times worse. Dean wouldn't speak to him, save for the initial yell and threat to kick his ass if Sam didn't get them checked out and on the road within ten. Sam had complied, not without stating his peace, but conscious of the fact that to argue further was nothing more than wasted breath. He had managed to snatch the keys though, and that was a victory in his book.

Sam almost laughed when he'd exited the gas station to find his brother curled in the back. He would've if it were anyone but his brother. Dean hated to ride in the back, always had, and wouldn't do it unless he just couldn't remain in a sitting position any longer. So the fact that he had even dragged himself back there, proved Sam's point that they were diving back in too soon.

That had been over eight hours ago. And now here they were, driving down yet another back road to another quaint town to rid the clueless residents of their unexplained problems. Upon entering the town of Atchinson, Massachusetts, Sam couldn't help but entertain the thought that one-day people may actually grow the balls to save themselves. He just hoped he'd be around to see it.

---------

The St. Pius X Cathedral cast its long dark shadow on Main Street. It's winding spires appearing as elongated black claws on the cement below. The limestone building glimmered in the afternoon sun, its ancient years revealed by the weathered stone. The large red door was propped open, a beckoning to come and partake of their faith, but none entered.

They were other churches in town but each failed to produce the captivating quality St. Pius resonated. On Sundays, the ornate wooden pews were packed with followers, believers. Father Andrew preformed the Mass and then sent the congregation home always before noon. It was ritual, and in towns like Atchinson, patterns and consistency are held in regard. Everything is as it should be, everything is perfect, and no one imagines living anywhere else. Or so it is said.

But it is in the quiet halls of towns such as these where the deep secrets lay hold. And they are guarded with ferocity and will that rival any known to man. There are some secrets men will lie, cheat, and steal for. In Father Andrew's case it is one the man kills for.

It is among his fellow parishioners he reads from the ancient Latin text, a blood-red insignia adorning his forehead. It is responsorial, and they respond, their voices echoing throughout the halls. But their meeting place is safe, hidden, behind the old stone walls laced with stained glass and faded paintings. It is the place of death, where those that have served their Church are buried and honored in eternity beneath it. The vault that hears and watches their deepest secrets unfolded and the dark magic wielded in silence.

The stained altar holds a lifeless young man, chest bare, a deep, black symbol blazed over his still heart, the marking a perfect replica of the one that graces the follower's foreheads. A sickening stench fills the air as a dark thick substance bubbles from the mark. The chant is completed, the book slammed shut, and the seven members encircle the altar.

A wizened, decrepit man steps out from the circle, his straggly white hair plastered haphazardly to his pale, contorted face. His hunched form moves slowly towards the sacrifice. He reaches out his frail bony hand and traces the thick black streaks along the offering's side back towards their origin. His mouth twists into a snarled, yellowed smile as he places his hand over the symbol with a quickness and force not known to his age.

The air grows cold, and a wave of black encompasses the circle, the pale flicker of burning candles all that dimly shines through. A heinous laughter is heard, at first it resounds in gasps from the aged man but then gains strength and youth as the ritual wears on.

A solemn word is uttered, and the darkness flees. The man draws back his hand and turns to face his fellow worshippers who are bearing the same wicked smile as he. He takes in a deep breath and brings his hands to his face, watching as the gnarled worn skin melts into a smooth shade of tan. His heart beats strong, the life and energy of the slain coursing through him, latching onto every piece of his being. He feels the shifting of his features as they return to their lost youth. He stands tall, full height, and strides over to his place among his brethren. His old years vanished.

All attention falls on Father Andrew, who nods, pleased with the outcome. Another member steps forward into the circle and the leader sighs deeply, before stepping out and meeting his faithful follower. He raises the man's hand, bringing into the light and view of the others. The tight skin bears red lesions, the edges the ashy gray of deteriorating flesh. The solution is simple and the timing urgent, but Father Andrew shows no sign of this as he gently drops the extended hand. He merely turns and with a voice as clear as daybreak, addresses his flock.

"We will need another."

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Okay got this up faster than i thought i would. I appreciate any feedback, criticism, whatever. So, please lemme know what you think and thanks for reading.


	2. Encounter

Chapter 2

* * *

The slamming of the metal door jarred him, and Dean popped his head up quickly, his eyes darting wildly and a look of complete disorientation and confusion on his face. It didn't take long for him to get his bearings or to lock eyes with the smug face complete with haughty smirk watching him. 

"Your ass is gonna pay for that." Dean yelled through the pane, throwing the pillow over his shoulder, and fighting his way out of the blanket before jerking open the car door and stepping into the chilly evening air.

A wave of vertigo caught him and he leaned against the trunk of the car as he waited for it to pass. He would never give Sam the satisfaction of knowing he was right, but Dean had to admit his body was worn out. In his head, he tried to total the number of hours he must've slept but he couldn't quite bring himself to focus on the task. It didn't matter anyways; he was still fatigued and wanted nothing more than for Sam to hand him the key so he could crash again. The crashing granted him sleep, the sleep offered dreams, and the dreams gave him back his mother. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and threw up a wall before those thoughts had time to linger.

As much as he wanted to, Dean knew he couldn't afford to sleep. He and his brother, who at the moment was moping and brooding more than any girl he'd ever known, had been given a task. He still didn't know the particulars. He was so angry at Sam for trying to hide it from him, he hadn't even asked about where they were going. But Sam knew, Dean was sure of that, the younger could never pass up research, simply because he'd always wanted to know everything.

Dean lifted his head, and catching sight of Sam exiting the office, shifted his position so it would appear as more of a casual lean than a desperate need to remain upright. He slapped on his signature smile, but one close-up of Sam's face and Dean knew he wasn't buying it.

"You look like crap." Sam stated bluntly, avoiding Dean's gaze as he walked over to the trunk, popping it open. The movement sent Dean back a bit and he had to reach out a stiff arm and grasp the door handle to steady himself once more, cursing under his breath because he was pretty sure his little brother had done it on purpose.

"Yeah, well, you don't look to good yourself. Got that whole raccoon thing going." Dean mumbled drawing circles around his eyes with his finger. Dean slowly released his hold and paused slightly to ensure he was steady before grabbing one of the bags Sam had thrown out onto the gravel lot and worked to hoist it, not failing to note the way Sam was studying him.

"Dean, I ca-" The younger began to offer, reaching out to take the bag.

"No." Dean interrupted harshly, gritting his teeth at the extra weight he had to lug into the room came to rest over his shoulder. He was tired, not useless, and was going to do his best to prove it. It was an act he'd perfected over time, and he was damn good at it.

The elder stumbled when the younger brushed past him practically running toward their quarters for the next few days or possibly weeks. Dean silently prayed it was the former. He wanted a simple in and out job. Nothing too major, and nothing that would require a huge amount of fire.

By the time Dean trudged into the room, Sam had almost unpacked completely. The older Winchester relaxed his shoulders, allowing the bags to drop to the floor with a thud. He wasn't even going to begin to try and place them on the bed. Dean crumpled into the bed and rolled over on his back, his eyes taking in the roadside motel scenery.

He had to admit the room was a lot nicer than they were used to. The floor appeared to be clean, and the adjacent bed neatly made. They had more space to move around, and the bathroom looked to be larger, but Dean didn't feel like getting up and actually verifying the assumption.

"You want to shower first?" Dean jumped as Sam's head came into view, his little brother leaning over his sprawled form, trying to maintain eye contact. Dean wasn't stupid, he could that "mothering" look in Sam's eyes coupled with guilt stemming from somewhere in his little brother's psyche.

He had been programmed to protect, and Sam had somehow been programmed to apologize. The simple question was holding just that, an attempt to redeem from snapping earlier. Dean was exhausted, but Sam had driven the entire way, a rarity for the kid, and he could clearly make out the weariness in his voice.

"Uh…no. You first." Dean conceded, reaching out and grabbing the TV remote, flipping the box on rapidly to dispel any chance of argument from Sam.

It worked and within minutes, the steady pulse of the water met Dean's ears. He sighed heavily as he flipped through the channels. There was nothing on, and had it been any other time, he'd have busied himself with unpacking and cleaning out his baby. But today that seemed all too strenuous, so he stared at the ceiling tracing the cracks in the tiles, relieved when the creaking of the bathroom door sounded throughout the room.

"So, what do you want for dinner? I saw a diner about a mile back." Dean propped himself up against the headboard, watching intently as Sam shook the water out from his hair and searched for a clean shirt.

"I'm not hungry." And he wasn't. Food had lost its appeal after he'd upchucked before they had even hit the road because Sam had forced him to eat that God-forsaken breakfast bar.

Dean honestly thought he'd be over the whole ordeal by now. He'd been just as amazed as Sam when he saw how relatively small his injuries were, and as far as he knew he didn't have an infection. To him, it didn't make sense. He should be totally recovered. Sam had insisted that it was his body's response to lack of sleep and intense stress and claimed what he needed was bed rest, but there was no way in hell he was gonna lie on his ass while his little brother got to do the fun stuff.

"Well, too bad. Get up, we're going."

-------------------

The Impala rolled to a stop outside the quaint restaurant. Sam put the car into park, the sight of Dean shaking his head catching his eye. The younger chose to ignore his brother's disapproval of his choice and his forcing him to eat yet again. But Sam was starting to get more and more worried that Dean would never snap out of this and recover if he didn't take care of himself, and that included more than just sleeping.

"Frankie's Family Pantry?" Dean scoffed, reading the hand-painted sign hanging above the door. "Are you mental?"

"I prefer intellectually superior." Sam shot back, the sound of jingling bells signaling their entrance as he open the door to the diner.

Dean was visibly stunned upon entering. The diner was packed, only a few small tables remained unused. The brothers maneuvered their way to one of them, sinking heavily down into the chairs. An employee brought them 2 glasses of waters and menus and then wandered back into the maze of people.

"You know for a family place, there sure aren't a lot of families. I think we're the youngest ones in here." Dean stated as he scoped out the area. The majority of people were in their late fifties maybe, early sixties. There was a group of priests on the far side and another group of business men just right of them. But absolutely no kids, or teenagers, even though a good number of people looked to be at parenting age.

"No, I am." The light airy voice jolted Dean from his concentrative state, and he could tell by Sam's small jerk, it had him as well. Both brother's turned their attention to the short, blonde waitress, revealing all of her pearly teeth with her huge smile.

"Oh, really? And how old might you be?" Dean asked, leaning on his elbows and flashing his best grin.

"Dean." Sam warned, shooting Dean a "stop now" glance, and then turned his attention back to the blushing waitress. "I apologize for my brother's behavior. We don't let him out in public often."

The insult earned Sam a sharp kick to the shins, and a laugh from the waitress. Dean sulked that his attempt at fun was shot to hell, a look of slight embarrassment present on his chiseled face.

"Nineteen. And I'm Sarah, by the way," the blonde smiled and the brothers quickly rattled off their names. "Now, what can I get for you?"

Sam got the usual, a bacon cheeseburger and fries. Just the thought sent Dean's stomach somersaulting but he knew if he ordered a salad, or any other type of light, girly food, Sam would know something was wrong. He opted for the BLT, and as soon as Sarah was out of ear shot, asked the younger to fill him in.

Dean had to laugh when Sam stuttered his way through the information, he hadn't brought his notes, and frankly, didn't really have any to bring. All he knew was that the town was experiencing an evacuation of sorts from those that comprised the younger generation. It seemed none wanted to stay, and Dean had mocked the situation stating that he couldn't for a moment imagine why that was.

The elder continued to joke until Sam pointed out that five young men from the area in their early twenties had disappeared, only to be found dumped in the same section of forest, with the same symbol burned over their heart. Sam went on to say that the details of the investigations were hard to come by and he'd barely managed to find anything regarding the symbol, not one article had described the thing. The brother's once again fell into silence when they saw Sarah approaching with their food.

"I've never seen you guys before. Are you investigators or something?" She queried, placing the food down in front of them and issued each a long look.

"What makes you say that?" Dean asked pointedly but his tone nice, his mouth turned down in slight disgust as he watched his younger brother scarf down his food.

"I heard you talking about the deaths and the symbol and everything." Sarah answered sheepishly, his eyes falling to the floor.

"Ah, well, as a matter of fact we are. Reporters, actually." Sam's eyes widened at the lie, but managed to shoot an agreeing grin despite the mouthful of beef.

"Oh. Well, good luck interviewing the people in this town. Already five reporters had to just pack up and go home with nothing." Sarah replied, a small sigh escaping her.

"And why's that?" Dean prompted, grateful that the conversation was keeping him from ingesting the greasy sandwich he'd ordered.

"Because everyone that would talk is gone. Nobody but the older crowd is left, and they seem hell-bent on staying silent." Sarah's voice betrayed her attempt to subdue her irritation.

"Well, you're still here. And if you wouldn't mind, my coworker and I would appreciate it if you granted us an interview." Dean ventured the request, he could sense Sarah knew something about the case.

"Ok" Sarah mumbled. "I could do that. But not here. It's not safe here."

"Why?" Sam questioned, rejoining the conversation, his burger long since devoured.

"Just trust me, ok? Where are you staying? I'll meet you there tonight."

The brother's agreed to her offer, set up a meeting time, and paid for the meal leaving Sarah a generous tip. Upon reaching the Impala, Dean hustled over to the driver's side, slipping into his seat, before Sam could protest. The little bit of food he'd eaten had succeeded in granting him a tiny bit of energy.

"So, what say we find a bar?" Dean offered trying to sound more like his usual self, as he turned the keys in the ignition.

"What say we go back to the hotel and research this thing some more so we know what we're dealing with instead of getting plastered." Sam replied curtly.

"Okay, okay. Dude, what did you and your friends do at college? Play Scrabble?" Dean retorted, pulling out from the lot and onto the main road.

"Yeah, but Monopoly nights were the best." Sam quipped, glad to hear a strong laugh from his brother, but quickly shifted back into work mode, "What do you think she meant by 'it's not safe'?"

"I don't know, Sammy, but I sure as hell can't wait to find out."

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Okay not much action this time around...next chap. though...laying some ground work. So lemme know what you think and if there were any major errors or something...thanx for reading


	3. Dream

Chapter 3

* * *

As promised, a knock signaled the brothers at ten that evening. Sam got the door and smiled, gesturing for Sarah to enter. She was still in her waitress attire and looked a little rough around the edges, but Sam had seen how busy the restaurant had been and knew from experience that serving food was not an easy job.

Dean was lying on his bed, eyes half-closed. He issued a nod in recognition, but didn't speak or make any effort to rise. Sarah walked carefully into the room, sat on the edge next to his feet, and began studying his boots, wondering why he still had them on. She brought her eyes to the older Winchester's face and then to the tall, lanky one seated in the chair across from her.

"Thanks for coming Sarah." Sam began, casting a perplexed glance at Dean before meeting Sarah's gaze, "Any information you can give us would be helpful."

"Well, I don't know a lot." Sarah started slowly, "But my friend Kasey was one of the victims."

"I'm sorry about that." Sam replied contritely.

"It's ok. I just want these people punished or something, you know?" Sarah looked pleadingly at Sam, who simply nodded and urged her to continue. "The only thing I really know about is the symbol. I mean, Kasey's parents told me about it."

"So, what's it look like?" Both Sarah and Sam jumped when the question pierced the air, and turned sharply to view the one who'd mumbled it. "What?"

"He speaks!" Sarah laughed, and Sam couldn't help but do the same.

"Funny." Dean murmured, shifting into a seating position. "So you gonna answer my question or do I get to play twenty questions?"

"Dean." Sam snapped, irritated that his brother had somehow managed to lose all sense of manners especially considering that Sarah was the only lead they had at the moment.

"It's alright. He seems really beat. I won't take too much more time." Sarah stated softly, smiling slightly at the elder's hunched form and she swore she heard the word "good" muttered. "Kasey's parents said it looked like a capital "T"."

"A "T"?" Sam questioned, his brow furrowed in thought, "Like a cross?"

"No. Just like the letter T." Sarah responded earnestly.

"Well that narrows it down, doesn't it?" Dean scoffed, earning him a harsh look from Sam.

"It's all I got. Sorry." Sarah apologized, rising from her place on the bed.

"No, it's ok. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be Dean. You've been nothing but helpful." Sam countered, gently guiding Sarah to the exit. "Can you think of anyone else who may be able to give us some more information?"

"Well, Kasey's family went to St. Pius X. You could try to see if Father Andrew knows something." Sarah offered before stepping back out into the cool night air. "Have a good night and good luck."

"Thanks." Sam replied sincerely before shutting the door, and then whipped around to face his brother. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"Nothing, just tired 's all." Dean kicked off his boots, slumped back down in the bed and slid under the covers, his drooping eyes never leaving Sam's rigid form and clenched fists.

"Since when is being tired an excuse for being an asshole?" Sam shot back angrily, but his reply was met with nothing but silence. Sam let out a deep sigh and trudged over to Dean's now sleeping form. He watched the elder for a while, and when he was sure that he was lost in the deepest realm of sleep, brought his hand to Dean's forehead. He was relieved to find no trace of fever or clammy skin, although that would've at least given a valid excuse for his brother's earlier display.

Sam retreated back to his own bed, bringing knees to his chest as he continued to watch the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. It was getting harder and harder for him to figure out Dean, which considering that almost all of his time was spent with him made the dilemma seem impossible, yet, ironically, it was all too true. Sam found out a long time ago that his brother was the walking refusal to anything slightly resembling help, but that didn't do anything for his worry or the way he shamelessly guilt-tripped the elder into resting. But lately, he hadn't had to, Dean was shutting down on his own, regardless of the amount of coffee he swallowed into his system and that fact alone was enough to put the younger in a constant state of concern.

Truth be told, Dean was in a weakened state, and unless he took the time to recover properly, anything could happen. Sam chewed on his bottom lip as he silently reviewed the case in his mind. He wanted, needed, Dean to be on top of his game for this one. Something within him was screaming that this wasn't going to be an easy case, and it wasn't going to be taken care of anytime soon. They had barely any leads and the ones they did have were broad, way too broad.

Sam reached over and turned the lamp off before settling in between the sheets. His mind was filled with theories, but he willed it silent and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

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_Aged stone walls held him prisoner. The foul smell of sulfur filled his nose and mouth, burning through him as it reached his lungs. A chant in a tongue familiar, yet not entirely known reached his ears merged with the sound of painful agony, and the surrounding walls crumbled before him in its wake._

_A blood stained altar appeared in their place, hooded figures encircled around it, their mouths spilling the incantation. The stripped writhing form held fast by their touch, spewed curses upon the onlookers but they yielded no response save increasing his turmoil. The captive's skin laced with scratches and his chest raw red._

_He dared an approaching step, an attempt to save, as he witnessed the darkened symbol take it's place upon the sacrifice. His presence sensed, one hooded figure snapped its head upright revealing a marred yet human countenance. The blood drained from his face, and his body shuddered as the stark white eyes held his own and words unspoken flooded his mind._

_-----------_

Streams of sun light poured in through the blinds, playing lightly over Dean's heavy eyelids. He scrunched his face in protest and worked to turn over against the uninvited brightness, but his body didn't allow the movement. Relenting, he cracked his eyes open slowly, startled to find his brother's quivering form curled up along side him.

A raspy cough destroyed the silence as Dean worked to clear his throat and nudge his brother awake. His hand was dampened instantly as it made contact with the dark fabric of the younger's tee. Dean grimaced at the sweat stains that soaked his brother's back and the tiny glimmering threads that trickled down his face. He shook Sam repeatedly, each time a little harder and muttered his name a couple of times, before receiving the desired result.

Sam's owl eyes met his own and an embarrassed smile graced his ashen face. He swallowed noticeably before quickly jerking away and darting off the bed, fleeing into the bathroom and closing the door with a slam.

Dean sighed and mentally berated himself for not waking up and helping his brother through the nightmare he knew had occurred, whether or not Sam would confess to actually having it. He was entirely sure his little brother knew he wouldn't have to, his actions had proved Dean's theory true.

It bothered him that he hadn't even heard the attempted stifled scream Sam was so prone to giving, or the shifting of the bed underneath the added weight. Dean loathed feeling even remotely vulnerable, and he knew that was exactly the position he was currently in. He resolved to push harder, to fight against the bouts of fatigue and make sure he was there to protect Sam from whatever he was trying to fight off himself.

Dean offered no remark or comment when Sam exited the bathroom, his head down as he mocked looking for something yet to come into the elder's view. He could read the tension in his little brother's shadowed face by his protruding jaw line, and unable to stand the silence any longer opened his mouth to speak. But Sam beat him to it.

"I think we should check out the church first." Dean smirked at the statement. His "ignore the chic issue, focus on the job" ethic was beginning to rub off on the younger. A fact he wasn't sure he liked entirely, but wouldn't combat against.

"Okay. You know where it is?" Dean questioned through gritted teeth as he fought to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Uh…yeah, I saw it when we came in" Sam replied absently, all his attention on struggling to untangle a clean shirt from his brother's fantastic packing job.

"Good. When you want to leave?" Dean asked, buying himself some time before he tried to stand.

"As soon as you get ready." Sam responded quickly, and for the first time since he'd stepped back into the room, gave the elder a worried look "Are you feeling ok?"

"I'm fine, dude" Dean stated, clearly annoyed with his brother's question, and as was his practice quickly shifted the attention back to Sam. "Are you?"

"Yea. Why wouldn't I be?" Dean shrugged, lifted himself up, and began the seemingly long trek to the ajar bathroom door. It was going to be a long day.

----------

Sam eased the Impala to a stop in front of the towering stone edifice. They could've walked to the church instead of wasting the small amount of gas left in the tank, but Dean had been near heaving when they'd reached the parking lot of the motel so that hadn't remained an option for long.

The brother's exited the car and scaled the steps leading to the entrance. Two tall wooden doors, painted red, were propped open allowing a clear view of the bolted ceiling, long aisle, and hand-carved wooden pews. Their footfalls echoed throughout the open space and Sam laughed when Dean stopped just shy of the back row of pews.

"What now?"

"Just debating on whether or not I want God to strike me down or not. You know, lightening and all." Dean quipped, grinning widely.

"You're forgetting that he is merciful." A deep voice boomed from the shadows, startling both of the brothers momentarily.

"But don't you think he probably has some kind of policy on that or something. Three strikes your out kind of thing." Dean continued jokingly.

"Perhaps." The man replied stepping into the boy's line of sight. "I'm Father Andrew"

"Nice to meet you, Father." Sam interjected quickly "I'm Sam and this is my coworker, Dean, and we're reporters investigating the deaths that have been taking place in your area. We understand that some of the victims attended this church."

Dean struggled to stifle a laugh, relishing in that his brother, who for the most part opted to take the moral high ground, was bold-face lying to a priest, in the man's church, no less. The awkward shifting Sam was trying so desperately to hide nearly shattered his attempt.

"Yes, that is true." Father Andrew replied after a minute of carefully analyzing the boys. "What do you think it means?"

"Well, we're not sure at the moment. Just trying to identify any patterns that exist." Dean responded, his tone all business.

"No harm there. Is there anything here you need to see? Someone you need to question?"

"Actually, we were looking for you." Sam stated slowly.

"Ah, I see. Give me one moment." Father Andrew sighed, his eyes focused on something behind the brothers. Sam stepped aside to grant the man pass, and fought the urge to jerk when the priest's hand rested on his shoulder, as the older man appeared to stumble.

The icy touch sent a shock wave through Sam, and his body was flooded with the sensation of a thousand needles piercing his skin. The voice that had haunted him hours before returned in force, the words penetrating to his core.

_You have been chosen._

_-----------------_

Okay, so there ya have it. Please let me know what you thought. Their were a lot of shifts so if they were confusing lemme know, or if there was something that was completely confusing or anything...or major errors. So drop me a line, and thanx for reading


	4. Chosen

Chapter 4

* * *

Dean reached out a hand to further help the priest regain his balance but the older man lightly brushed it aside offering on a small smile before continuing his way to the shadowed corner where the faint outline of a hunched man was visible. Dean watched as the priest greeted the man, and studied their exchange for a bit, before turning his attention back towards his brother.

He couldn't help but notice the change in Sam's pallor. He'd paled considerably and was fingering his shoulder, rubbing it slightly as though it was sore. Dean reacted quickly when it appeared that the younger's knees were going to give out on him, and helped Sam down into the nearest pew.

Dean kept his hands on Sam's shoulders and knelt down in front of him to look his little brother in the eye. But Sam shrugged off his grasp, and jerked his head to the side without a word, pretending to be interested in the Gothic design carved into the slate floor.

"You okay?" Dean asked quietly, casting a glance over Sam's shoulder to see if Father Andrew had seen the incident, but the man was still deep in conversation.

"I don't know." Sam muttered softly, placing his head in his hands and running his fingers through his dark hair before bringing his face to his brothers. "Must just be worn out from last night"

"Right." Dean replied knowingly as he slumped down heavily in the seat next to his brother. "So what, this church was in your nightmare or something?"

Sam's body tensed at the question and he opened his mouth to offer a smart remark but he shut it just as quickly when he heard Father Andrew approaching. Dean gave him a look that screamed "pull it together" and promptly stood when the priest reached them.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but a situation has come up and it demands my utmost attention at the moment. I trust you understand." Father Andrew stated solemnly yet patronizing.

"Of course." Dean nodded, and offered his hand.

"You are welcome to join us for Mass this evening. We will be having a fellowship afterwards. We can talk then if you'd like." The priest continued, accepting Dean's gesture and shaking his hand.

"We'll think about it." Dean smiled tightly and mentally went over every reason he could possibly think of to not attend a Mass or whatever the hell a fellowship was.

"Please do and feel free to wander around. The staff should be able to answer any further questions you may have." Dean nodded once again, and waited until Father Andrews form was completely out of sight before smirking over at Sam. "Dude, can you imagine me, or any Winchester for that matter, reciting Hail Mary?"

"Probably would be the cleanest thing out of your mouth in a long time." Sam huffed, rubbing at the dull ache that seemed to have moved to his chest. He caught the elder's worried glare, quickly dropped his hand, and rose to full height. "So, where do you want to start?"

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The self guided tour was more of a complete investigation of every inch of the property. Static rang out from Dean's homemade EMF, and the scratchy noise was beginning to grate on Sam, not to mention the flurry of sarcastic comments escaping his brother's mouth as he passed every religious artifact and his failed attempts to censor himself in "God's house". It was a blessing and a curse, Sam supposed, because the retorts signaled his brother's mending, yet increased the pounding ten-fold in his head.

He had to get away, if not momentarily. Sam informed Dean he was going to check the back hallway, absently massaging his shoulder. Dean hadn't responded right away, and Sam was worried that he would disagree and insist on accompanying him. But after a minute or so, Dean had shrugged and said he'd meet him back at the entrance in fifteen.

Sam wandered down the first corridor he saw, stopping when the hallway ended revealing a two-way intersection. He glanced right and saw that the hall stretched onward, dotted with thick oak doors which he assumed were offices or storage. He turned his head left, expecting somewhat of the same sight, but was surprised to find that that corridor abruptly ended a few feet away. Nothing but a small table with a few small token items set against the left wall and a flowing, brightly colored tapestry spanning the entire length and width of the end wall.

He approached the hanging banner slowly, carefully studying the intricate patterns that ran their way throughout. Their origin stemming from the symbol centered on a background of dark blue. Deftly, he stretched out a hand and traced his fingers along the golden threads, captivated by the sheer artistry of the cloth. The very instant his touch reached the old symbol, the pain reignited in his shoulder and a sense of panic overtook him.

Sam drew his hand back as though the fabric had burned him and held it to his chest. His eyes darted back and forth scanning the area for any unwanted onlookers but found none. He glanced down at his watch in efforts to calm himself but only groaned when he realized the time.

Practically running, Sam made it to the main sanctuary and grimaced when he saw Dean, arms crossed, glaring at him. He offered no reason for his tardiness, despite the elder's constant questioning, but only stated he was hungry and Dean needed to eat. The statement solicited the desired result, as Dean automatically set about whining that he wasn't hungry and if Sam didn't stop shoving food down his throat he was going to run away. Sam chuckled at the comment reminding Dean he'd have to walk seeing as he was in possession of the car keys, slid into the driver's seat, and headed off to the diner.

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Dean mumbled a few choice phrases before slumping down in the booth across from Sam. He allowed his gaze to drift to the surrounding groups huddled together over a late lunch and was glad that the crowd was small. He tried to find Sarah amongst the small ensemble of waitress chatting in the corner but didn't see her. Sighing, he focused back on Sam, whose face was currently hidden behind the menu.

"Why couldn't we just eat at the hotel?" Dean whined, at least if he did so at the hotel, he could get away with picking at whatever was in front of him while Sam searched the Internet, but here, all the attention was on eating something he really didn't want to do.

"Because, I want real food." Sam replied sharply, his head burrowed somewhere between Sandwiches and Specialties.

"Just because it's fast doesn't mean it isn't real." Dean stated smugly, bringing up his past choice he'd been so excited to see along the drive back although Sam had shot it down the second it hit the air.

"We are not doing this again, Dean." Sam sighed, his eyes peering above the menu.

"Doing what again?" Dean asked innocently.

"Shut up."

Dean had a good comeback, but it was thwarted by the gray-haired, slightly plump waitress who approached, pen in hand. They ordered quickly and didn't have to wait long before the hot food was set before them. Dean's face contorted into a look of disgust when he was handed the greasy burger. The thing was massive.

"Eat." Sam commanded, taking a chunk out of his own chicken sandwich.

"That?" Dean questioned incredulously, pointing at the thick slab of beef covered with condiments. "No, it could kill me."

"You ordered it." Sam replied trying to keep his aggravation aside.

"Only because you made me." Dean shot back, smirk in place.

"Could you at least try?" Sam muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Yeah, sure, I could but I re--"

"Dean!" Sam interrupted loudly, his response putting him on the receiving end of many a scrutinizing look from the surrounding patrons. Taking a deep calming breath, he continued "You need to eat something because I don't know when we are going to get back to the hotel tonight and if it's late then I don't know whether or not we are going to get a chance to eat something healthier than M&Ms."

"Where exactly do you think we're going?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised in confusion, he was under the impression he was going back to hotel to sleep.

"Back to the church." Sam replied, before shoving another big piece of lunch in his mouth.

"There is no way in hell I am going to a Mass, Samuel David Winchester. No way in hell." Dean stated firmly, his eyes wide at the sheer ludicrous suggestion.

"Relax, moron, we're not attending the Mass, we going to investigate during the Mass. Everyone will be busy so we can go wherever."

"We already searched the church this morning." Dean pointed out, the first go around had wore him out, and he honestly didn't know if he could handle a second go around. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"I know, but we missed something. I know it."

"Go on."

"When I was checking the back halls, I saw this tapestry and when I touched it, I don't know, man. I sensed something." Sam quickly shoved another big bite into his mouth before he had to go any further. He didn't want to even begin to go into what he'd sensed when Father Andrew had touched him not until he knew more.

"Alright, psychic wonder. But if I even hear you muttering the Lord's Prayer I am out of there, you hear me?"

"Yeah, I got it. My big brother is deathly afraid of anything resembling a church service." Sam grinned wide, before wiping it off his face and replacing it with a stern gaze upon viewing Dean's untouched food. "Now, eat."

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Sam led the way, as the brothers weaved their way through the dim halls grateful for the Latin prayers that allowed them to speak without worry. They came to a halt in front of the huge tapestry and Dean had to admit it was a beauty, a little freaky, but a great work of art.

"Looks like a cross" The younger stated matter-of-factly, illuminating the center symbol with the beam from his flashlight and studying it yet again. His hands once again traced the patterns, but avoiding the mark. A heavy golden-red strand caught his eye and he followed its course. It's beginning forged from the intersecting lines of the symbol.

"Yeah, but not one I've ever seen." Dean spoke, through a yawn. He saw no point in trying to stifle it, Sam knew he was tired.

"Almost like a T, yeah? I mean, the upper part of the cross is gone." Sam asked, looking over his shoulder to the elder, who had begun occupying himself with the token items on the adjacent table.

"I guess." Dean cocked his head, eyes squinting as he focused back on the symbol. "Kind of."

"It's a start." Sam mumbled, wiping out his cell phone, fiddling with the flash before snapping a picture. Placing the phone back in his jacket pocket, the younger dared to reach out. Sam's fingers brushed the symbol, and in that instant, images from his nightmare were freed back into his conscious mind.

With more force that necessary, Sam pulled the tapestry from the wall, and began running his hands against the cool stone behind it. He worked to make contact with every stone, his fingers moving along the block edges of the slabs. The younger was beginning to think his efforts were in vain when his right hand connected with a small but noticeable rise in the otherwise smooth stone.

"Dean." Sam murmured forcefully, glad that his brother quickly joined his side. "Look."

"It's a stone, Sam. S as in Sammy, t as in turtle…" Dean teased, nudging Sam in the arm, who was clearly less than impressed by the joke.

"You're such a dumbass." Sam muttered, continuing to scrutinize the slab.

"I'm not the one who's thrilled to find a stone." Dean smirked, but the expression faded instantly into one of shock when Sam pushed against the stone block.

The brothers watched in fascination as the huge wall that had blocked their path disappeared from their sight, revealing a dark corridor lined with unlit torches. Dean shot a nervous glance around the hall to make sure they weren't being watched, only to find that when he turned around Sam's body was already disappearing down the hidden path.

"Sammy!" Dean whispered angrily, clutching his flashlight tightly as he moved to follow his idiot little brother who vanished around the corner "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Sam didn't give a reply for the simple fact he couldn't get his mouth to work properly. Upon turning the corner, he'd entered a large circular room, the molded walls aligned with shelves, some covered with large engraved stone, others open revealing decaying corpses.

The large stained table in the middle of the room drew his attention and he walked stealthily towards it. Darkened splatters adorned the carved design and Sam didn't have to guess what they were. He swallowed the bile attempting to rise in his throat, and stepped away from the altar.

His aim to exit the crypt entirely was halted when his eyes fell upon a weathered book resting on the uneven floor slightly beneath the place of sacrifice. Kneeling down, Sam reached for it. He swatted it towards him and snatched it up. A move he regretted immensely as white-hot agony ripped through his chest. Instinctively, he hurled the book against the wall, the release ebbing the flow of pain. He clutched his shoulder and ventured another look at the cursed book, his eyes widening when the cross that had adorned the ornate hanging was imprinted on the cover. Sam heard Dean's hurried footsteps and quickly rose, trying his hardest to convey passivity as the elder came into view, but his tone revealed his urgency.

"We need to get out of here."

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The ride to the hotel was silent. Dean fought hard against the sleep that beckoned him and Sam silently warred with the persistent throb in his shoulder and chest. Once, in the room, Sam didn't even comment on the way Dean dropped heavily, not to mention silently, into bed with every article of clothing on, including his shoes.

Instead, Sam hustled into the bathroom, yanking off his shirt and staring frighteningly into the cracked mirror. Chewing hard on his lower lip, Sam fingered the patch of fiery red that had settled over his heart, his eyes intently following the thin white lines that vaguely resembled an outline resting in the raw skin's center. He had been chosen.

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Alright there ya have it! Thanx for reading and lemme know what you think...it inspires me (LMAO)


	5. Frustration

Chapter 5

* * *

Shaking hands reached frantically for the angular edge of the porcelain sink, the old fixture groaning as the young man rested his full weight onto it. His burning chest seemed to constrict tighter and tighter with each thudding beat of his heart, and Sam's back arched in attempt to regulate the ragged breaths that were trying to get through the vice. The panicked, quick gasps echoed throughout the tile chamber, and the shallow movements tortured his aching lungs. Dark spots started their ominous dance within his vision causing his mind to scream and beg his body to regain control. 

The process of struggling to take in a deep breath and release it slowly was repeated until the young man could feel the tension in his chest reside and his rapid heartbeat regress back into a normal rhythm. Content he'd reached the closest thing to a normal state he could possibly manage at the moment, Sam cautiously pushed himself from the sink, but his knees buckled under the weight shift and he latched unto the cool porcelain once more to steady himself. He regained his balance, and stretched out a hand, bracing it against the wall. Shifting his body against the painted sheet rock, Sam started his trek back into the room.

The puke green carpet scratched his bare feet as he silently sought out a clean shirt and bit his tongue to stifle a moan when he fought to put it on. Once the small and painful feat was completed, he turned his attention to the coffee table that held his laptop and the rest of his research. The table happened to be on the completely other side of the cramped room, and on more than one occasion Sam's naked feet connected with products of his older brother's extreme case of disorganization.

Sam sunk down into the nearest chair, his feet throbbing as he reached his long arms across the table and pulled the laptop and his father's journal in towards him. He flipped through the tattered book, and retrieved his jotted notes from his small interview with Sarah. The inked words blurred before his eyes, appearing nothing more than jumbled incoherent phrases. He set the paper down gingerly, and reclined back into his seat, absently rubbing the raw skin that had adhered to his cotton tee. Folding his arms over his stomach, he set his eyes on the curled up form entangled in a mess of bed sheets, the sound of the soft snores filling his ears.

The younger gritted his teeth taking in the sight. Dean had seemed more his normal sarcastic self, but still appeared to be losing the exhaustion battle. He'd looked so tired when they had gotten back, tired enough, in Sam's opinion, to not move a single muscle during his entire REM cycle. But from the look of things, Dean had tossed and turned the entire time, and his body continued shifting every few minutes.

A thought occurred to Sam that maybe he should wake Dean up and check on him. He'd always thought Dean a still sleeper, at least his waking demeanor suggested he would be. Sam couldn't think of many things that scared his older brother to the point of restless sleep. Sam huffed when he realized for the thousandth time that one, and only one thing terrified his brother. It was the knowledge of that one thing that Sam used to convince himself that since he'd been no doubt "chosen" in secret, the situation would remain just that.

Their roles had been reversed for the past couple of weeks and Sam had willingly accepted the responsibility of taking care of Dean, whether the elder wanted him to or not. Sam found himself relishing in the challenge to some degree. To him, it was his penance, his payment, for all his older brother had sacrificed and risked to keep him safe. The younger felt shameful even considering burdening Dean further by adding his new "I'm marked" problem to the mix. He was supposed to play protector now, and he was damn sure that Dean wouldn't balk under the pressure, but simply accept the situation and move from there instead of dumping it onto him.

While that was part of his reasoning, a huge chunk of it revolved around how badly Sam never wanted to see that glimmer of guilt and fear flitter through Dean's eyes. That crushed look that dominated his features when the elder resolved that he'd failed his younger brother in someway, regardless of if the situation was within his control or not. Sam determined he'd seen that look enough in the past few months and there was no way in hell he was going to put it on Dean's face again.

Not only that, but telling his brother would put Dean into a whole new realm of torment as he tried recklessly and faithfully triedto stop the mark from claiming his little brother even though he swore himself a realist and an acceptor of whatever fate threw his way. He'd react just as Sam had done back in Nebraska. The memories from that three day search were still ingrained in Sam's mind, the feeling of hopelessness and sheer terror that ravaged him at the thought of watching someone he loved slowly fade away. He couldn't do that to Dean.

Sam didn't want to die at twenty-three, no more than Dean had wanted to at twenty-seven. But the fact remained he was marked by someone, or something, that he didn't have control over. Their leads were miniscule to say the least and the small amount they did have proved almost completely worthless. The outlook was dim, but he wasn't going to just give up.

The computer whirred as the machine started up. Sam sat up straight and went to work. His fingers flying over the keys as he sought for answers to the riddle that plagued him. He needed a solution, a loophole, a timeline even. He had no idea how long before the sacrifice took place and no clue as to how to stop the whole thing from taking him. He wanted something, anything to offer just a slight notion that he could defeat the inevitable future.

---------

Dean groaned a few choice phrases and reached for the extra pillow, placing the lumpy object over his head to block out the rays of bright morning sun, not to mention the incessant clicking coming for the far corner of the room. He scrunched his eyes shut, wanting nothing more than to dip back into the realm of unconsciousness. After only a few minutes, the man was convinced that the morning events were some kind of sick conspiracy because with each passing second the streams of light intensified, and the continuous tapping seemed to resound louder, drumming in his ears.

"Could you stop?" the elder grumbled hoarsely, wiggling his head out from underneath the pillow and propping his upper half up on his elbows. A mumbled apology met his ears, followed by the sound of crinkling pages, and he grimaced at the sound before flopping back down onto the hard mattress.

He shot a glance over to the alarm clock and sighed heavily. 7:30. Only his dorky little brother would find research fascinating at this hour. Dean let his eyes drift shut and welcomed the darkness. But it was too late. The rest of his aching body had already started waking up, save for the prickly sensation that ran it's course up and down his foot. At least one part of him was getting adequate rest.

Dean exhaled deeply and then started working on getting into a seated position on the bed, relaxing his head against the coarse wooden board that posed as a headboard. Quietly, he watched Sam avidly pouring over the journal like it was the first time he'd ever read the thing. The elder didn't fail to notice that his little brother feature's appeared to be sunk in, his eyes rimmed black.

He wiped a hand over his face in frustration. Something had happened, apparently a big something, and for the second time this week, he'd slept through it. Dean hated the fact that his body was too tired to even react or offer solace of any kind throughout his brother's tumultuous nights. The haggard appearance of the younger screamed "Nightmare—I'm never sleeping again", but Dean could sense the urgency in the way Sam kept flicking the pages over and scanning them.

Dean dropped his head, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He swayed slightly when he rose, but his equilibrium evened out shortly and he started the long shuffle to the bathroom. He threw a look back to his little brother, although Sam didn't even glance his way in return, before shutting the door behind him.

A quick steaming shower was all Dean needed to feel human again and more on the alive side of the spectrum. After putting on fresh clothes and shaking the excess water from his hair, he sauntered back into the room. A frown clouded his features immediately when he caught sight of Sam, brow furrowed, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

"Okay, spill" the elder commanded, settling down into the other wooden chair.

"What?" Sam muttered, breaking away from his thoughts, "Oh. It's nothing—just—this whole case if bugging the hell out of me."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Dean agreed, feeling a huge weight lift off his shoulders because Sam was merely frustrated not terrified.

"Do you have any idea how many symbols have a T like structure in them?" Sam questioned, irritation clearly evident.

"Nope, but I bet your gonna tell me." Dean quipped lightly.

"Hundreds." Sam's eyes widened at the revelation and Dean could tell by the look on his face, he'd probably viewed at least two-thirds of them, if not all "None of which look like the one in thechurch."

"Well, that picture thing had a lot of stuff going on in it. Maybe it looks different standing alone, you know?" Dean suggested, turning the laptop to face him and viewing the search results.

"Maybe." Sam mumbled, his attention shifting back to the journal for any clue he could find.

"Hey, does Sarah work today?" The question seemed innocent enough, if it was coming from anyone but Dean and he knew it.

"Why would you want to know that? And if it's for the reason I think you want to know that, I hope for her sake she is not." Sam replied, an all-knowing tone in his voice.

"You have a dirty mind, college boy." Dean smirked, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back into the chair.

"This from the man who could make Hugh Hefner blush." Sam retorted, a small smile creeping onto his sullen face. Something Dean was more than happy to see.

"What's so wrong with that? And I don't see what your problem with bunnies is, Sam, because from everything I've se-, uh, heard described them as extremely playful and very, very nice." Dean laughed, winking, and nudging his little brother in the arm.

"You're hopeless." Sam stated, getting up and starting the process of finding a pair of clean pants.

"Not like I deny it." Dean replied quickly "And for your information I wanted to know because she could give us some info on that one kid's family. Like their address or something."

"Kasey. His name was Kasey." Sam offered smugly

"Sure, whatever. But I bet his parents can give us more info on that symbol you're so fond of."

"Ugh. I can't believe I didn't think of that." Sam smacked his forehead, and sunk down on the bed, shaking his head at his oversight.

"Oh, don't worry, geekboy. My I.Q. is only 30 points higher than your's."

"You wish." Sam shot back, gathering the rest of his things before heading off to the bathroom.

"It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to be jealous. Just because I'm older, wiser, and way better looking does not make you any less special, no matter what all those other people say." Dean feigned sincerity as best he could, until the sound of his brother's laugh radiated through the room and he was forced to release one as well.

"Are you kidding me? Dude, you need help." Sam managed to get the words out between bouts of laughter before ducking his head back behind the door frame.

"Maybe so, either way you have less than 20 minutes before I leave your ass here." Dean threatened jokingly, offering one last jibe as his brother went to close the bathroom door, "Make sure you use soap this time, ok? It took forever to get the smell out of my baby last time."

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okay so there you have it. Not the most action filled...but more thought process. Anyways, lemme know what you think and i will try to get another update done by the end of the weekend...however, we shall see...thanx for reading and reviewing


	6. Discovery

Chapter 6

* * *

A few flirtatious comments and a signature smirk later, the brothers were on their way. Kasey's parents lived on the outskirts of the town according to Sarah and she'd warned the trip could take a bit. She was right. Dean's Back in Black tape had been played completely through and now the soothing sounds of Black Sabbath flooded through the old speakers, accompanied by Dean's fingers drumming the beat on the steering wheel along with the bass line.

Sam played with the crinkled notebook paper that held their destination, his heart pounding in anxiousness. He fought inwardly to not rub at his chest, wanting nothing more than to eliminate the dull lingering throb and the perpetual itch of the peeling skin. But Dean would notice, and the more the irritation increased, the more Sam wondered just how much longer he could hide it. He'd bought some ointment to help prevent him from scratching while Dean had been talking with Sarah. But there were only so many rest stops he could force Dean to take so he could apply it.

The younger studied the blur of green outside the passenger window, sighing heavily when he looked back at the clock. His head couldn't endure another loud metal song. And if they didn't get there fast, Sam would either kill Dean, who was now belting out Stonehenge, or salt and burn his tapes reassuring himself that if the mark did take him, at least he wouldn't be able to experience the consequences of his actions.

He didn't have to wait long, a brownstone sign soon greeted the brothers. The words "Westwood Estates" engraved into it. Dean eased the Impala into the neighborhood, and the car crept down the streets as the brothers tried to view the house numbers. They only had to turn around once, before finding the two-story house, the siding a pale blue.

Dean let out a low whistle as he stepped out of the Impala and let his eyes roam over the picturesque home. Although he'd seen the picture of suburbia many a time, this home personified it to the core, complete with the small picket fence bordering in a lush green lawn. The narrow stone walkway led up to an open white washed porch that wrapped around the entire estate, wicker chairs and tables dotting it. A huge oak door, holding an ornate golden knocker, served as the entrance. Dean took a deep breath, mentally rehearsing his speech, well, lie, and shot a look to Sam, who was fidgeting like a 5 yr. old, before connecting his fist with the solid oak.

Both brothers grinned wide when a blonde-haired woman answered. Her sea-green eyes puffy and red. The crumpled tissue clutched in her hand, revealed her state of grief and Sam couldn't help but hurt for her. She managed a tight but courteous smile and was quickly joined by a tall, graying, burly man whose facial expression was anything but welcoming. It was damn near threatening.

"Who are you and what do you want?" the man barked, stepping in front of his wife, so that he was the only thing in the boy's line of sight. His abrasive manner stunned Dean momentarily, but he recovered quickly enough.

"I'm Dean and this is Sam and we're here to sp—"

"They're friends of Sarah's, dear." The women's meek voice was music to the brother's ears as she worked to calm her wary husband. She must've caught the slightly confused look dancing across all three men's faces because she quickly added the fact that Sarah had called and told her that they would be coming.

That piece of information seemed to suffice her husband and he stepped aside, gesturing for the brother's to enter. Silently, the man led them down the picture-laden halls, his wife at his heels. Some family photos, some individual portraits—the majority of which contained a young sandy-haired young man with his mother's green eyes who looked to be about Sam's age, his face bearing a big white smile. It didn't take a lot of thought to realize that this was the son they had tragically lost.

"Sit anywhere." The woman chirped pleasantly. "Oh, and I don't think I introduced myself. I'm Caroline and that's my husband Rick. Can I get you anything to drink or eat?"

"No, thank you." Sam replied quickly, ignoring his brother's perturbed glance because he'd answered for him, "We're fine."

"Ok, then. Sarah tells me you all have classes together at the Community College." Caroline offered, attempting to use small talk to get her husband to act civilized with the guests, instead of glaring at them from his Lazy-boy. "English, I believe. Is that right? Kasey loved that subject."

"Uh, yes, ma'am." Dean agreed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "That's why we're here."

"By all means, continue." Rick stated, his tone far from tolerable, his dark eyes locking with the older Winchester.

"Well, uh…" Dean began, school wasn't exactly his forte, and Sam quickly interjected to prevent any chance that both parents would suspect them as imposters.

"We're currently studying the different approaches in journalism and were assigned to write an article on a event that happened in our home town." Dean was impressed, the lie was damn good, he almost believed it. But then how could it not be, his little brother had learned from the master.

"And that involves us, how?" Rick spat out the question, and Caroline noticeably winced at his overall demeanor.

"Honey, let the boys finish." She chided giving the older man a sharp look, before issuing Dean and Sam a small smile signaling for them to go on. Dean responded, taking over where Sam had left off.

"Sam and I chose the recent string of disappearances and uh…"

"Deaths." The man's gravelly voice seemed to hold a tinge of sadness through its spite, and his hardened gaze softening when he looked to the hallway lined with pictures, "Like my Kasey's"

"Yes, sir." Sam spoke, shifting uncomfortably, "We have most of the information we need, so we won't take long."

"Good." Rick snapped, falling back into his rigid persona.

"Richard, that's enough." Caroline replied tersely, sighing deeply before continuing, "What do you boys want to know? Not sure we can be much help, but I will try my best."

"The mark." Sam answered earnestly, straightening up quickly, a movement that caused Dean to jolt and issue a well concealed elbow to the younger's side. Sam winced at the impact, but went on, his life depended on it. "What did it look like exactly, and how long did your son have it before he disappeared?"

"Well." Caroline said thoughtfully "It started as a rash of sorts, at least that's what I thought it was, and I say maybe two, three days before."

The room hung in silence for about a minute or so. Sam fighting to stifle a gasp and regain his ability to speak. Dean giving him sideways glances trying to figure out why the younger refused on following up. And Rick and Caroline watching on, analyzing the two young men in front of them.

"So, two or three days." Dean repeated, shooting Sam another "what the hell" look, "And the mark?"

"See that's the weird thing. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was St. Anthony's Cross, that fat T shape and everything. But that's the Catholic in me." Caroline answered lightly.

"St. Anthony's Cross?" Sam questioned, racking his brain, trying to remember if he'd seen it the night before.

"Yes. I don't know if you've seen St. Pius X, but that's were we go, did go, to church and that cross is all over that place. I think it's Father Andrew's favorite. Why, I have no clue."

"What do you know about it—the cross, I mean." Sam pressed, eyes fixated on the woman who held the key to his fate.

"I really don't know much about it. Just what it is, and what it looks like." Caroline shrugged, blushing slightly at the lack of knowledge she truly had "Father Andrew could probably tell you more though."

"Does that answer all your questions?" The booming voice that had remained thankfully unheard for the past while jarred all three from their discussion and they all turned to watch the tall man stand, staring as if to command the brothers to say "yes".

"Yes, sir. Thanks for your help." Dean replied as nicely as he could through his gritted teeth, seeing as he wanted nothing more than to injure the idiot in front of him. Sam jumped up along side of him and the brothers followed the man to the exit. The younger the only one to thank the couple again.

"I think Rick needs to pay Jim, Jack, and Jose a visit. Might take the edge off, don't you think Sammy?" Dean joked, walking over to the driver's side.

"Could make him worse." Sam murmured sullenly, sliding into the passenger "What do you expect Dean? They lost their son."

"I know that. It was a joke Sam." Dean defended, maneuvering the Impala back onto the highway. "What's your problem anyway?"

"I don't have a problem." Sam muttered, reaching for the journal that had been put on the back seat earlier that morning. "At least we got some answers."

"Yeah, so, you want to go to the church and talk to the Father?" It wasn't really a question, more of a "this is what I want to do" but Sam either didn't get the insinuation or just didn't want to.

"No, but you can. Drop me off at the motel. I want to do some more research." A resigned okay was heard and Sam sunk down deeper into the leather seat.

Sam rested his head against the door and delved into his thoughts. At least Dean seemed on the up and up, although he knew that façade was only there cause his brother thought something was wrong. But Dean wouldn't fight with him over research, lest the elder be subjected to do it himself and since Dean didn't know, in Sam's mind it was up to him to figure this whole thing out before it was too late.

Hebit his lip hard to keep from spilling his secret right then and there, but gave into the urge to scratch his chest. It would be better this way for everyone involved, he was sure of that. After all, this whole thing would be over in two or three days.

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Okay as promised...lemme know what you thought!


	7. Sickness

Chapter 7

* * *

Dean circled the block for the fifth time, slowly trying to rub away the burning in his throat. Apparently, Father Andrew was more concerned with the community's personal issues than their parking options. Although, in Dean's mind that was an important personal problem, because after all, a car is an extension of the man driving it. He doubted the Father saw it that way, as he reluctantly maneuvered the Impala into the gravel lot, trying his best to ignore the clouds of white smoke spun upwards by the tires that would more than likely adhere to his baby's midnight exterior.

Struggling to clear his throat, Dean brought the car to a slow stop, selecting a space, if you could call it that, quite a distance away. He barely managed to put the car in park before the tingling in the back of his throat resurfaced coupled quickly by a bout of hacking coughs.

His body doubled over in the seat as the attack persisted and intensified, the jarring motion burning it's way from lungs to throat. He worked furiously to take in some air and breath between the sharp exhales, his eyes blurring and watering under the effort of the simple task. The attack ended as abruptly as it had started leaving a shaking Dean slumped over across the driver's seat. He shifted slightly to lay out on his back, his eyes studying the Impala's roof as he attempted to steady his deep, raspy breathes.

Silently, Dean thanked everything holy that he had dropped Sam off at the hotel, and his little brother hadn't been there to witness the addition of a new symptom to the ever- growing list entitled "Proof that I am sick." For starters, he was trying his best to keep his façade of getting better in tact. And secondly, he knew the reason he was in his current statewasdue to the fact that he hadn't listened to Sam in the first place and had pushed himself too hard too fast. Not that he would ever give his little brother the satisfaction of knowing that.

So far, Dean was impressed that he'd been able to hide the other stuff on the list from the resident mother hen, even managing to successfully dodge a confrontation with his annoying little brother. The paleness was easy. He could simply attribute that to being exhausted, and that could be tied to the last job they had done which wore him out and he was now just sleeping it off. Thus creating a semi-successful excuse for the five hour cat naps he was currently taking.

Sure he was moving a little slower than normal, but if Sam commented on it, he would remind him that he did have a cabin fall in on him less than a two weeks ago, and the issue would be dropped. His concern was the fact that his skin had taken a clammy feel and he was sweating more than normal, but adding a few more layers of clothing covered the stains and Sam knew better than to touch him without prior consent.

Dean could hear his voice take on a gravelly tone during the entire interview with Kasey's parents, but Sam had been oblivious, all his attention on the dead boy's mother. The elder couldn't even begin to express how happy he was that Sam had taken an extreme interest in the case. So much so, that Dean swore he could hear Sam muttering facts in his sleep. It was a welcome diversion, there was only so much "henning" Dean could take before initiating evasive action. But regardless of how engrossed his little brother was, there was no question in Dean's mind that Sam would probably notice if he was curled up and working on coughing up a lung. And that meant he was screwed.

His breathing settling, Dean wiped the dampness from his lips and grabbed the top of the seat using the bench as leverage to pull himself back up. He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could view his countenance and couldn't help the small gasp that flew from his lips. If it was possible he looked worse than he felt. He rubbed his hands roughly over his face, hoping to instill some color into his cheeks and wipe the look of sleep from his eyes.

Satisfied with the small change in his pallor, Dean stepped out of the car and whipped out his wallet, grateful to find a crumpled ten resting between the leather folds. If he bought the good stuff, he figured he would be able to keep his cough under wraps for at least a couple more days and hopefully stifle or avoid any chance of fever.

-----------

A shiver ran down his spine when he stepped through the entry arch. Churches always managed to freak him out, especially ones that had hidden crypts and a priest that could cause Sam to get all weird, well, weirder than usual.

He eyed the basin of Holy Water in the corner and for a brief fleeting second considered crossing himself with it, before fully entering the church because then maybe God would see he was at the very least trying. Dean quickly shrugged off the idea, remembering all too clearly how good water conducted electricity. And he was pretty sure lightening held an electric current, if that was the method God chose to smite him. Dean made a mental note to ask college boy about that one.

Dean walked cautiously down the long aisle, not liking in the least the way his footsteps echoed throughout the open cathedral. He reviewed the layout of the building in his head before turning left down a long corridor and followed his memorized map until he was back in the same spot Sam had lead him to the night before. Right in front of that freaky ass tapestry, his little brother had been so fond of, just the sight of it made Dean shudder involuntarily. He knew what lay behind that piece of cloth and while he hadn't ventured to far in, Sam had. And the look on his brother's face was enough to deter any notion of wandering back in unless absolutely necessary.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Amazing what someone can do with the talent's the Lord has given them." Dean jerked when the clear voice rang out behind him, realizing for the first time he'd been zoned out staring at the hanging.

"I don't think _that_ is god-inspired." Dean retorted, turning to face the source of the voice and smiling visibly when he saw he wouldn't have to search for the Father.

"You're Dean, correct? The reporter?" Father Andrew waited for Dean's nod in affirmation before continuing, "Now, tell me, Dean. Do you mock all of God's handiwork or just the parts you don't understand?"

"No, just that one." Dean quipped smugly, nodding back to the tapestry.

"I see." Father Andrew replied thoughtfully, "I take it you aren't a man of the faith."

"No, I'm not. But I didn't come here to discuss my spiritual situation, Father, I came here to finish my interview." Dean spoke a bit sharply. He really didn't feel like another "maybe it's time to have faith" speech. He'd had enough of that to last a lifetime back in Nebraska.

"Humor me." The Father murmured, walking past Dean down the corridor, stopping mere inches from the hanging artifact. "Do you know what this symbol means?"

"No. But I bet you're going to tell me." Dean smirked, at least he didn't have to come out and ask.

"Do you always joke about such things?" Father Andrew slowly shifted his eyes to Dean, his gaze hard, "I can't imagine that's a good quality for a reporter to have, because if my memory serves, you are supposed to remain unbiased. I believe that implies the fact that you listen without comment or remark and simply take in the information given to you."

"That's right, sir. Sorry. You were saying." Dean mumbled, his pale cheeks turning red at the priest's reprimand.

"This" Father Andrew brought his long thin fingers to the dark symbol tracing it ceremoniously, his voice reverent, "is St. Anthony's cross. It is a sign of devotion to God used by Friar Anthony when he established the first Christian monastery in 4th Century Egypt. It was later worn by St. Francis and his friars as a sign of the incarnation of Christ."

"Huh." Dean breathed, slightly pissed that all he'd gotten from the Father's speech was a history lesson.

"You see, Dean. Things aren't always what they appear. At first glance you see only a symbol, but even the simplest things hold meaning." Father Andrew's tone was placating, and Dean didn't like it one bit.

"You got that from one of those desk calendars didn't you?" Dean countered, extremely pleased when a frown clouded the Father's pleasant features. His moment of victory was cut short when his body was racked with coughs once more.

"Is everything alright?" the Father questioned taking a step closer to the hunched quaking form before him.

"Yes." Dean rasped, regaining control. "So, these guys who disappeared all attended this church, right?"

"That is correct."

"So what do you think about the connection of the church to the disappearances?" Dean cleared his throat, and tried his best to sound professional silently wishing Sam was standing along side to help him out.

"I believe anything is possible. However, I doubt anyone here would want to hurt those young men. They were so full of life, gifted by the Lord and used their talents for him the best way they knew how. They were what Father Michael would refer to as "the cream of the crop." It's a pity, they had so many good years left to live. I'm sure the Lord has a purpose in all this. We just can't see it at the moment."

"Right." Dean offered tightly, snapping his notebook closed and extending his hand to the Father "Thank you for your help. I'll be back if I have anymore questions."

"Whatever I can do." Father Andrew conceded, shaking Dean's hand. Dean nodded, and turned to walk away, the priest's voice stopping him once again, "How is your colleague, by the way?"

"Sam?" Dean asked dubiously, "He's fine. Why?"

"He wasn't with you today." The Father replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh, well, he prefers research to interviewing." Dean replied quickly, his eyebrows raised questionably.

"Ah. Well, then. Have a good evening, Dean and the same to Sam." Dean continued staring at the priest, until the man retreated back into his office and then began trudging back to his car, shaking his head at Father's question.

-------------

Dean jerked the hotel door open and threw himself towards the bed, landing roughly on the hard mattress. He reached out and pulled a pillow towards him, settling it under his head, not even offering slight recognition to his tense brother huddled over the computer screen.

"Hello Sam. How was your afternoon." Sam muttered, conversing with himself, causing Dean to lift his head and give his brother a quizzical glance as Sam answered himself. "It was fine aside from my pounding headache, but thank you for asking."

"And you said I needed help." Dean laughed, pushing himself upright and sitting down on the edge of the bed, doing his best to give his brother his attention. "Did you find anything?"

"Actually, I did." Sam replied, shifting in his seat, a sure sign his inner nerd was thrilled with whatever he had found. "So, St. Anthony's Cross is actually a version of a Tau cross."

"Okay, so…what?"

"So, the Tau cross is based off the Ankh Cross." Dean knew Sam was trying to clarify his point, but either the cold meds he'd taken on the way over or his brother's logic wasn't allowing him to grasp the concept and his face showed it. "It's a symbol of immortality, Dean."

"Oh. Father Andrew didn't mention that." Dean muttered, dropping back down onto the bed.

"Really, what did he say?" Sam asked nervously, he was sure his research was valid, but still.

"Something about the reincarnation of Christ." Dean mumbled, his eyes drifting shut.

"Could it be both? I mean…" Sam's voice trailed off, as he reverted back into his thoughts. He pulled on a few strands of his hair in frustration. Time was running out, the searing pain in his chest was testament to that.

"Maybe. But you still got to explain why it's showing up." Dean's voice was muffled by the pillow and Sam sighed heavily at his brother's prone form. Whatever discussion he'd wanted to have would just have to wait until morning.

Sam lifted himself out of the chair, stretching out his back and legs before walking over to pull off his brother's boots and effectively tuck him in. The younger quickly changed into comfortable sleeping clothes, shut out the lights, and crawled into bed.

---------

The dry scratch fought its way back up his aching throat. The effects of the medicine were wearing off, and he could feel the tingling sensation of another cough rising. Without hesitation, Dean ripped the covers off of him, and ran to the bathroom door. He needed water and someplace where Sam couldn't hear the attack he could feel coming.

He was surprised to find the door closed, not to mention locked. Throwing a quick look over at Sam's bed, he cursed upon viewing it was empty. He was completely screwed now.

"Sam?" He croaked "I need the bathroom, man. C'mon."

Dean's clamped his lips shut, his leg bouncing in anxiousness as he waited for his brother's exit. There was no way in hell, he was letting Sam on now. He had worked too hard to keep his brother off his back and that's how it was going to stay. Dean cleared his throat repeatedly, the lack of response from Sam beginning to send him into panic.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean banged on the door a couple of more time, the exertion of the movement forcing him to succumb to the onslaught of the rough coughs. Taking a ragged breath, Dean called out once again, and receiving no answer, stepped back and kicked the door, instantly regretting the action. Adrenaline proved his ally, and he fought through the throbbing of every muscle in his body as he repeated the action again and again until the door flung open.

Dean grabbed his knees and heaved for breath long and hard, before bringing his head up to scour the bathroom for whatever was delaying his brother. All the work he'd done to regain a regular breathing pattern was shot to hell as his breath hitched in his throat, and his heart plummeted in his chest.

Sam's writhing form buckled on the tile floor. His bare chest fire red and raw. The smell of burning flesh and sulfur invaded Dean's senses as a series of white slashes appeared in the smoldering skin above his little brother's heart. The intersecting lines forming a pattern that to Dean's horror was all too familiar.

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Okay so thanks to carocali and HT, and naturally for helping me brainstorm...god knows i needed it. A little long, but i figured you guys deserved it for waiting so long...and uh...lemme know what you think


	8. Revelation

Chapter 8

* * *

Dean gaped, his wheezing breath frantic, as he stared at his brother's contorting body. The mess of scorched red and white slashes across the younger's chest latched his attention. His eyes darted furiously over the scene, his brain screaming for him to react, to ease Sam's suffering. Yet, he found himself detached, his state of panic morphing into one of observance and confusion.

The marking was familiar, known to him, but he seemed to be at a loss to place it. His thoughts convinced him that it was due to the mark being out of place, being burned deeper into his little brother's skin when it should be adorning a wall, or book. Had he seen it on a wall? Or somewhere else? His sweaty brow furrowed in concentration as the nagging feeling he should be able to but simply couldn't, intensified.

A sickening crack brought him back to terrifying reality, and the sight of bright red staining the cold porcelain and flowing from his brother's head brought him to action. On shaking legs, Dean stumbled towards his seizing brother, his knees colliding hard with the cool tile as he slumped down beside Sam.

Running on pure instinct alone, Dean grabbed hold of Sam's shoulder's and pinned him hard against the floor. The action elicited a series of horrifying shrieks from the younger, who began swatting angrily at the hands that held him in agony. Dean fought to keep his position, believing this the only way to help his brother. A swift knee to the torso was all that was needed to refute that theory and throw him, heaving and gasping, off Sam.

Dean huddled against the far wall, and curled into himself, struggling to regain his breath. His chest ached and tightened, restricting the coughs that sought exile and impairing his ability to take in even the smallest ounce of air. Tears clouded his eyes, making his brother's pain but a cloud of mist. He worked to blink them away, so that he could see Sam, he needed to see Sam.

But Sam was no more than a twisted writhing body, wailing from the pain induced from the image blazing itself upon his chest, a lingering sickening smell that clouded the senses and refused to lift.

Gritting his teeth, Dean crawled slowly back over to his brother, carefully avoiding the spastic limbs. He gently cupped Sam's head in his hands, holding it steady while he slipped a leg underneath and then slowly rested Sam's head back down onto it. Methodically, Dean traced his little brother's head wound wondering how bad it was, but refused to look at the rest of Sam's convulsing form.

Without thinking much of it, Dean began to hum. The melody was jumbled and barely recognizable to anyone else that could've been listening through Sam's cries and his ragged breaths. But Dean knew it, and he was sure Sam did too, although he was only a baby at the time. Dean hummed the same bars over and over for the simple fact his memory had betrayed him, and he'd forgotten most of his mother's song but he didn't think Sam would mind.

Through his own shivering, Dean could still feel the tremors from Sam's quaking body pulsating through his hands. His back arched in effort as he slowly steadied his breathing, and resigned he would have to quit humming to settle it. He forced his mind to count off the strangled inhales and exhales rather than indulge the burden of guilt at how his entire attempt to help his brother had done nothing but hurt him more.

A strangled cry escaped Dean's tinged blue lips when the screams came to a halting stop. He slowly dropped his gaze down, deathly afraid of the sight that would meet his vision. Dean raspy breathing slowed slightly when he saw that the sea of red he had been expecting didn't exist.

Sam was still, unmoving. A sight that would usually ignite fear in the elder's heart, but brought solace instead. Dean released a ragged sigh, and hesitatingly shifted into a position along side his brother.

"S-sa-mmy?" Dean heaved, his voice barely audible as he rested heavily down onto his elbows beside him. "S-sam?"

No response was given, and Dean tried again. Silence was not his desired result and the elder gingerly shifted his weight, and reached out to nudge his brother figuring the contact should jar him back. Carefully, Dean avoided the patch of fiery red and tapped the upper part of Sam's shoulder gently, before pulling his hand quickly to not re-inflict any unnecessary pain.

The touch warranted nothing. Dean swallowed hard, and fear consumed him as he reached out to touch his brother yet again. He cringed as he put more weight behind his fingers. The energy to pull back was too much, and sweat poured every inch of him when the movement backfired and he was left no choice but to rest his entire hand onto Sam's shoulder to steady himself.

Dean yelped as a searing pain racked his head and he was hurled back onto the bathroom floor. A panicked voice reached his ears, and he squinted his eyes to make out the figure that had just put him in such a state. The black spots dancing in his eyes proved the task a more than difficult feat, but clarity was soon gained and a small shaky smile graced his face as he met intense orbs of brown.

"Dean, man, I'm sorry. I think…ha, we hit heads, man. You okay?" Sam was moving his head too much for Dean's liking as he was already seeing three of him. He shook his aching head in attempts to fix the problem, but that only sent another jolt of pain and him grasping his temples once again. "Dean? What's wrong? Dean, answer me!"

"Y-you" Dean spat out, baffled by the look of confusion that quickly clouded his brother's heads and pretty sure it mirrored his own. So he tried again, this time lifting a heavy hand to clarify his remark. "Y-you."

"What?" Sam questioned, then gasped upon following Dean's trembling point. The younger's eyes widen considerably as he slowly took in the mess that had worsened upon his chest. The slashes that had once seemed random had merged to form a perfect outline of a clearly visible symbol. Releasing a deep breath, Sam quickly snatched his abandoned shirt from off the edge of the sink and jerked it on, before turning his attention back to his shaken brother.

"I'm ok, Dean. Really. It's not so bad." Sam's tender tone did nothing to aid Dean into a sense of comfort, rather into a state of anger.

"No!" the word came out in a terrified scream, as the elder worked to scramble off the floor. His unsteady footing not helping in the least, and Sam, ever the hen, caught on rapidly wrapping his arms around his brother's waist to help him up. A movement Dean did not appreciate and showed it by pushing Sam off, his hand connecting directly with the charred flesh above his younger brother's heart.

"Dean, calm down. You need to calm down!" Sam's voice held urgency when Dean's pants turned into full-fledged wheezing when he showed no sign of pain inflicted by Dean's touch.

"I-it d-doesn't h-hurt?" Dean's voice was almost a whimper as Sam half walked, half dragged the elder out of the bathroom and back into the room.

"Well, it aches sometimes and stings a little." Sam confessed, still unsure as to what started his brother's state as he settled Dean back down onto the bed and went to make him lie down, another motion the elder adamantly refused.

"You're lying." Dean stated firmly, the fog around his mind lifting and bringing him to a place of perfect coherence and anger.

"No, I'm not." Sam snapped, but a smirk formed on his lips soon after "Now, what were you doing in the bathroom with me? Huh, big bro?"

"I like the towels." Dean muttered slowly returning the joke, but then brought his head up to Sam's and looked at Sam questionably, eyes wide, " You were shaking…on the floor. Don't you remember?"

"What? I couldn't sleep, so I was going to take a shower. Dean, you're not making any se-" Sam stopped his counter argument when he noticed his brother no longer held his gaze and was instead fixated on his now covered chest.

"You're marked, Sammy." Dean gasped, and Sam was about to head over and offer comfort, but Dean shot up quickly on his feet, "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Uh…Dean, I—I can handle it. Okay? Y-you were, are, sick." Sam stammered taking a small step back, quite frightened by his brother's sudden outburst and how close the elder's anger filled face was to his own.

"No, I'm not!" Dean cried vehemently. "And you can't!"

"Dean, you can barely stand." Sam offered softly, reaching out to steady his swaying brother. "I'll figure this out. Okay? I promise. But you need to rest."

"Don't touch me." Dean hissed, jerking back to avoid his brother's outstretched arms.

"Alright. Alright." Sam raised his hands up in mock surrender and watched pensively as his brother eased back down onto the bed, his breathing becoming erratic.

"You should've told me, dumbass." Dean murmured.

"I didn't want to worry you." Sam replied dejectedly, his heart pounding when he took in his older brother's glazed eyes and ashen face, and reached out a hand to Dean's forehead.

"What the hell? You trying to get fresh with me college boy?" Sam laughed at his brother's reply to his actions, but it didn't meet his eyes.

"Yeah, Dean. I love sick sweaty older men." Sam shot back, not liking at all how warm Dean's forehead felt under his hand, "Dean, I think you should lie down. Can you do that for me?"

"No, Sam. I can't do that for you." Dean snapped, shrugging off his brother's hands, "Not until we, and I mean, we, fix this thing."

"Dean, I--"

"Sam. Stop." Dean ordered, lifting himself off the bed, "We're in this together. Got it? And stop henning me before I kick your ass."

"I got it." Sam replied sullenly, "Can I at least go and get you some medicine for that sickness you don't have?"

"Whatever, dude." Dean shrugged, and waved his hand gesturing for Sam to go.

Sam threw a final glance at his older brother before gathering his jacket and the keys and heading to the nearest drug store or supermarket he could find. As soon as, Dean heard the motel door slam, he trudged over to his bag and dug out the bottle of caffeine pills he had stashed for such times. There would be no sleeping until he figured this thing out, and if he knew Sam like he thought he did, there was no doubt the idiot would try to get something with a sleep-aid and try to drug him. There was no way in hell, Dean was letting that happen.

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Alright so lemme know what you thought...inspire me to write more!


	9. Search

Chapter 9

* * *

Sam wandered up and down the long aisles of the small drug-store, scratching away the remains of the caked blood adorning his forehead. He hadn't even noticed the cut until he was halfway to the store and had been shocked to find it when he peered at the rearview mirror.

It wasn't anything major, of that he was sure. There was no headache, no throbbing, just a scabbing remnant of whatever had occurred in the bathroom. It wasn't a comforting thought because seeing as he couldn't remember a damn thing meant that in all argumentative sense he could very well have a concussion. A possibility that his older, hawk-eyed brother hadn't even mentioned, much less seemed to notice.

Sam wasn't sure if it was the series of events that had unfolded or the betrayal that had jarred the elder more. If it was the event itself, it must've been horrific if Dean was obviously reeling, and it had managed to scare him enough that a head wound just gets shoved to the wayside. Sam really wanted to believe that was the case. That Dean was just getting worked up because of what he'd seen. Although, if he was forced to bet money on it, he would go with the latter.

But what would Dean have done or better yet what could he actually do now that Sam's little secret was out? He had been researching like a mad man for the past day and a half and all he had to show for it was zilch. And what small amount Sam had managed to find ended up conflicting with what Dean had uncovered.

Sam grit his teeth in frustration. If anyone on the face of the planet had a God-complex, it was his older brother. Bottom line, Dean was sick. Ever since they were small, Sam couldn't remember one instance where his brother was only a little sick either. Dean always got hammered hard with whatever disease decided to take him on.

If Dean hadn't looked so traumatized, there was no doubt in Sam's mind the elder would've just slumped down and slept. But no. He screwed up, pissed him off, didn't tell Dean something in order to protect him, which was never supposed to be in his little brother job description, and now instead of rest, Dean was getting sicker.

Sam shook his head at his own stupidity. He knew better than to hide things from Dean. Hell, he hadn't been able to do it their entire childhood so he had no idea what possessed him to try it now. Dean had this way of just sensing, knowing something was off, but never calling him on it until he could catch him red-handed. And it pissed Sam off to no end, mainly because he always got caught.

If Dean was entitled to secrets, why wasn't he? He had managed to keep a few under wraps for a while when they first started their little journey together only because Dean was out of practice, four years can do that. But he'd be damned if he could now. Regardless, he wasn't going to let his brother suffer anymore on his account. There was no way Sam was letting his brother stare at the computer screen for hours on end in his current condition and waste away in front of him. What Dean needed was proper rest and fluids, not to mention something to knock the bug out of him. And he was going to get it, whether or not he wanted it.

Deep in his own thoughts, Sam almost missed the row of brightly colored boxes and bottles that claimed to cure a multitude of symptoms. For a fleeting second, Sam contemplated buying a liquid for Dean just for shock value alone. However, a pissed off Dean was a dangerous Dean, and Sam figured after the stunt he'd pulled in silence, his older brother was more than likely to actually attempt murder if he so much as asked him to drink the thick, badly-flavored syrup.

Methodically, Sam picked up box after box, turning them over, and intently reading through the lists of proper dosage procedures and advantages between the pills in this box to the prior medication he had just put down.

_Sam_

Sam snapped his head up, his eyes, formerly intrigued by the massive list of warnings and uses, now darting frantically around. He was sure he heard his name, but the aisle was empty and no one, save Sarah and Kasey's parents, even knew who he was.

He shook his head at his jumpiness, and carefully set the box back down on the shelf. Sam studied the rest of the display for another minute before giving into the thought of standing on his tiptoes to see over the rack, just in case.

All that met his eyes was a clearly bored employee stocking Ace bandages. Sam eased back down onto his heels, a smirk on his face. He must've hit his head harder than he thought.

_Sam_

He whipped around this time, rubbing at the dull ache that had reappeared in his chest as he charged down the aisle, and peered out at the open entrance area. The teenage employee behind the counter gave him a questioning glance and he offered tight smile in return.

Scratching his head, Sam meandered back to his former position in front of the medicine, trying his best to focus at the task at hand and not on whatever the hell was going on in his twisted mind.

_Sam_

This time his name was called sharply, and the sound brought Sam to his knees. He clenched his jaw as the pain flared viciously in his chest, and fought hard against the muted scream threatening to escape. Through gritted teeth, Sam strained to respond to the calling. "What do you want?"

_You_

It was a simple answer to a simple question, and as it was spoken the searing fled, leaving Sam sprawled out on the floor, trying to maintain what little bit of composure and sanity he had. He bit his lip in anger. What was it with freaky supernatural crap and their infatuation with his brain in the first place?

"Are you alright?" Sam shot a hard glance in the direction of the question, softening his expression when he saw a young dark haired girl wearing the drug-store's orange vest.

"Uh, Yeah. I tripped." Sam stated, letting a small laugh out as he picked himself off from the floor.

"Oh. Okay. Well, uh, can I help you with something 'cause I saw you earlier and you just keep staring at the shelf." The girl voice had a meek quality to it as she eyed Sam curiously.

"Well, my brother is sick, and I need something that will help his cold and fever, but also knock him out, you know?"

"Yeah." The girl laughed, "Is he bad when he's sick? Cause my brother is bad when he is."

"Bad? Dean? More like terrible." Sam joked, grateful for the light discussion instead of the interrogation that could've occurred.

"I've never taken any of these ones." The girl replied quietly, a slight blush forming in her cheeks, "But my mom takes that one, and she sleeps good, I think."

"This one?" Sam followed where she was pointing and scanned the box quickly before agreeing it was a good choice, "Is the name on the pills?"

"What?"

"The pills. Are they just blank or is the name on them?" Sam knew it was a weird question, but Dean wouldn't take them if he really knew what they were.

"No. I think they're red though. Is that ok?" Sam smiled at her confusion and just nodded.

"More than okay. Thanks." Sam quickly nodded a goodbye, and darted off to the counter to make his purchase to ensure he wouldn't have to tell Dean about the voice anytime soon.

-----------------

Dean shakily drew out the symbol he'd seen far more than he would've liked. His vision blurred, but that was fine with him as long as his eyes remained open. The pills he had taken had sufficed in the awake category, but he had sensed his body's shift into autopilot. He let the pen drop from his limp fingers and slumped back into the chair, staring down at the blue stain marring the blank page.

It was another entry into the journal. His journal. Yet another one of the traits he had picked up from his time with his father. It was one that Dean never thought he would ever adhere to because for one, his dad seemed to just have it all, and two, what the hell would he write about.

But as time wore on, and the hunts came quickly beginning to all but mesh together, Dean found himself needing to document any information lest he forget it entirely, and by doing so put himself and his family in danger. And that wasn't an option.

Dean pulled the book towards him and casually flipped through the pages. Some entry held slight additions to what his Dad had already seen and experienced but weren't touched on. He always remembered to reference where he'd taken the bulk of the information from though, down to the page number and name of the contact Dad had used.

Other pages contained a mess of symbols, another tribute to his father's sense of organization that he had so easily adopted. Some held his own tracings patterns of supernatural occurrences that were yet to be completed or where not far enough into motion to be filed as one.

Four of the filled pages held nothing more than series of run on sentences. His thoughts. They were the evidence of the confusion, fears, and moments of pain he had experienced and had no outlet for. There were multitudes of evil things that haunted him, but these were the glimpses of his life that defined his existence. One for the day Sam left, a page of nothing but anger, pride, and hope. Another for morning he awoke to find his father gone, missing, and realized he really had no one. The third a torrent of curses toward a demon he had yet to find who had taken his younger brother's love and the pain that had clenched his heart upon remembering his mother. Nebraska occupied the fourth, his toying with how Death must be and whether he really wanted it or not. He'd felt his heart struggling to beat, the blood slowly pumping in his veins, and yet the dreaded sensations offered him a way to get back what had been stolen long ago.

It was for these pages alone that Sam was never allowed access to the book. Just rereading the scribbled phrases, his thoughts on paper, irked Dean, and if Sam were to see what was really going in that wiseass head of his, well, all that hard work of forging those masks was for nothing. So, is Sam wanted to keep secrets, Dean would oblige. There was no doubt in Dean's mind that Sam knew the book existed, he'd whipped it out when they were in Wisconsin, but the younger never pried, a fact that eased Dean's struggle with maintaining the damn thing in the first place.

Out of all the scribbled entries, the ones that bothered him the most were the ones that bore the marking of the still unexplained--the riddles that appeared to hold no answer, no probable cause. He had six pages full with such incidents, ones he vowed to solve before his demise if not for the fact that most of them concerned the massive missing or killing of children. Dean cursed under his breath as he turned to the seventh and began scrawling down the case that was trying to claim his brother.

With the words "St. Anthony's Cross" "Immortality" and "Incarnation" jotted down, Dean scratched his brow in thought, grimacing at the wetness that met him there before letting out a small round of coughs.

The pieces were there, they just didn't fit. He was sure the connection lie within the church but it was constantly eluding him. The symbol tied the two occurrences but no one could really give a straight definition for it and while Father Andrew creeped him out, he really had no reason to suspect of being a supernatural entity. Even if he was possessed, there was no way he could wander around the halls with people muttering in Latin all day and no one getting suspicious when he flipped every time they hit "Christo." But then again, what did they really know about the man?

Pulling at his damp Tee, Dean shifted his attention to Sam's laptop, clicking on the history menu. A series of links to alternative religion sites and symbol galleries greeted him, but nothing in regards to church history. Dean squinted in concentration, and rubbed at his glazed eyes. Sam wouldn't have missed something that important. He didn't think, but they had been stressing so hard over the symbol and if his little brother knew he was marked and thought the symbol was the key, it was possible.

Dean swallowed visibly, trying to quell the slow burn in his throat as he hit search and typed in the words "St. Pius X" "Father Andrew".

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"Father Andrew, I need to speak with you. The matter is urgent." Father Andrew tore his gaze from the old text, and raised his bowed head to meet the man who had interrupted his session.

"Yes, Father Michael. What is it?" Father Andrew's irritation at the man's imposing was evident, but quickly morphed into worry when Father Michael stepped out from the door, motioning for a cloaked figure to enter. Father Andrew stared questionably at Father Michael who merely touched the figure's shoulder and closed the door behind them. A gesture to roll back the wide hood that covered the man's head entirely.

"Father Thomas." Father Michael stated sullenly, his eyes glassy as he stared at the nearly uncovered skeletal form in front of them. Patches of skin hung by mere threads of tissue off the bony face, exposing the inner black-red of rotting muscle and the grey matter that lay behind the deteriorating skull.

"Why did you bring him here?" Father Andrew demanded, "Those reporters are in town"

"I know that, Brother. But we don't have much time." Father Michael retaliated, clearly angered by his brethren's reaction to the situation.

"I can see that, but we must be patient. The chosen isn't ready." The reply was hard, firm, and final.

"Why not? You said you marked him a day ago." Father Michael pressed, his dark eyes ablaze.

"Well, considering I get interrupted when I am trying to prepare him brings a certain delay now doesn't it?" Father Andrew asked pointedly, meeting his Brother's glare.

"Yes. It does. I'm sorry I questioned you." Father Michael apologized, dropping his head in submission to his leader.

"Don't trouble, and have faith, Brothers." Father Andrew encouraged, placing his hands on Father Thomas' shoulders "By tomorrow you will have your youth again."

The creaking and snapping of worn bones ravaged the room as Father Thomas rolled his head upward bringing his white eyes to his elder. A popping of sinew followed by garbled words exiting the loose mouth, jaw unhinged, were released unto the air as the man retreated from the room.

"Thank you, my lord."

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alright lemme know what you think!


	10. Sleep

Chapter 10

* * *

Dean felt the cold shiver run down his body and inhaled sharply as the tremors shook him. He wasn't sure how, but somewhere between reading Father Andrew's insanely self-righteous bio and St. Pius' illusive history, he'd ended up sprawled on the coarse motel carpet.

The effects of the pills were fading. His head pounded as the drug released its hold and the dull tired ache that encompassed his former auto-piloted body ignited into a ravaging crippling pain. His chest heaved under the pressure and sweat poured from his brow as Dean launched an effort to steady his shallow breaths. His eyes, glazed with fever, began to slide shut and Dean frantically brought up a hand and rubbed them open fiercely.

Sleep was something he could not afford now, and yet never in his life had he craved it more. Every bone in his body screamed for it, he was losing the battle against his own flesh and still refused to give in to defeat. As much as he hated being sick and openly vulnerable, the thought alone of losing Sam was enough to kill him, and if that reality occurred, he knew it would.

So, screw it, if he felt like his entire being was shutting down and protesting every movement, he was stronger than this. He'd fought against worse. Hell, most of his injuries resulted in major blood loss. This was only some wacked out cold that had decided to take him on, a big mistake if you ask him. He'd beat its ass or at least delay it for a while. He just needed to fight off his illness for a few more hours, until he knew Sam was safe. Then it could claim him and Sam could mother him like he always did. Dean even resolved himself to let the younger do it.

Dean's eyes drooped shut and he shook his head violently against the darkness. This wasn't working, and he knew the only way he would be able to stay up for any length of time was the caffeine. It was the only weapon in his arsenal that was working effectively as of late although he figured that he'd probably need to combine it with some other source of the stimulant soon or else his body would just adjust or simply ignore the dosage. He made a mental note to tell Sam that he needed a triple shot expresso the sooner the better.

He needed more pills if he planned on actually saving Sam this time, and with that thought fermented in his mind, Dean propped himself up on his elbows and expelled a harsh cough before army crawling over to his pack. The trip alone almost did him in, and Dean leaned his body heavily against the hard side of the bed while his shaky fingers fumbled with the clasp.

A straggled sigh of relief was heard when he got the damn thing open. Dean jerkily straightened up and set to work finding the bottle that contained the manipulated energy he desperately needed to survive the rest of the night. Tense hands grasped the familiar plastic and quivering fingers sought to align the god-forsaken arrows on the cap and bottle and pop it open. Dean bit his lip in concentration and groaned angrily as he continued to fight with the unmoving seal.

The hollow click of the lock and the moaning of the old wood, jarred Dean from his struggle and he quickly snapped his head over to the opening motel door. Without a thought, he shoved the unopened bottle forcefully into his pack, forgetting the other items he'd strewn all over in his search, and scrambled to lift himself unto the bed.

"Hey, Dean! I'm back." Sam greeted rather noisily as he stepped into the dimly lit room.

The mess of papers and drawings adorning the coffee table caught his immediate attention, but held him captive for only a short while before the deafening wheezing pierced his ears.

"Dean? You ok? Dean?" Sam stumbled over the lump of sheets piled in front of the bed before reaching his brother's huddled, heaving form that lay there. The younger quickly gathered both sets of pillows and propped them against the headboard.

"Alright, Dean, c'mon," Sam coaxed softly, gently helping maneuver Dean from his side to his back and pulled his brother to a half-sit against the pillows. Sam let out a shaky breath, running a nervous hand through his dark hair as he waited for Dean's gasps to even out.

Sam dropped down on the bed along side his brother. Dean's skin seemed paler, if that was possible, and his short hair was plastered to his head by the rivers of sweat that glistened along his face. He reached out a hand to shimmering forehead, his fingers brushing the radiating heat before being smacked away.

"Geffme" Dean coughed, swatting at Sam's hand that was no longer in his weak reach.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Sam joked, a trembling forced smile on his face. Content that Dean was still going to be breathing when he got back, Sam darted off to the bathroom, returning quickly with a cup of water and relieved to find his brother breathing more normally.

"I'd rather coffee." Dean stated bitterly, taking the offered water and issuing Sam a pleading glance.

"Nope. Water. And before you down it all…" Sam retreated from his brother's line of sight, returning with two bright red pills in his extended hand.

"What the hell is that?" Dean demanded, taking another slow sip from the Styrofoam cup.

"Cold medicine. For the cold you don't have." Sam smirked and thrust the pills into Dean's hand, "I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"Take the damn pills Dean." Sam ordered, trying his best to sound authoritative when Dean did nothing but place them on the nightstand.

"Why?" Dean pressed, more than happy to see his little brother getting agitated.

"You know why." Sam retorted, relishing in his moment of brilliance he'd had at the drugstore as he whipped out a familiar yellow bag from the brown sack. He couldn't help but smile as Dean's eyes widened considerably and his brother swung out to grab the bag dangling in front of him. "Uh uh. Not until you take the pills."

"Yeah, right, man. C'mon hand 'em over." Dean reached for the bag again, shooting an evil stare at his tempter when it was pulled out of his grasp again. "Ah, c'mon dude!"

"Well, it seems I wasted a buck fifty doesn't it?" Sam sighed, eyeing the pills on the table and shooting Dean a knowing glance, before settling down on the opposite bed. "Guess I'll just have to eat them myself."

"Jerk." Dean snapped, working hard to position himself on the edge of the bed, but thwarted by a series of hacking coughs.

"Bitch." Sam replied off-handedly, pulling the crinkling wrapper open, eliciting a groan from Dean.

"That's just low, dude." Dean muttered watching his little brother tip the package over and shrug. "Fine! I'll take the damn pills."

"Ha. I knew it." Sam laughed victoriously as he watched Dean throw back the pills.

"Now, hand them over." Dean commanded.

"Alright, alright." Sam conceded, handing over Dean's prize, before getting up and settling down at the coffee table. "So, did you find out anything?"

"Uh huh." Dean replied, clearly distracted as he poured out the chocolate covered candies and began sorting them by color.

"Want to fill me in? Or do I get to guess?" Sam exasperated, riffling through the scattered papers.

"Tell you what. You tell me what you know and I'll tell you what I know." Dean replied sharply, although issuing a smirk before popping two of the green ones in his mouth.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam questioned angrily, shoving a pile of drawings out of the way.

"Cut the crap, genius, I want to know when that friggen' thing turned up." Sam visibly straightened at his brother's tone. Dean was all business now, his voice, gravelly from sickness, held an ominous quality to it that warded off any possibility of a lie.

"The other day after we got back from the church." Dean digested the information slowly as he studied the remainder of his candy.

"So, when we interviewed Father Andrew?"

"Yea, he tripped. Remember? And I helped him." Sam offered, rising from his seat and hurrying over to his brother when Dean fell back heavily against the pillows.

"I'm fine, dude, back off." Dean insisted, waving Sam away although the younger settled down near his feet.

"Yeah, I know you keep telling me." Sam smiled and unconsciously rubbed at his chest before continuing, "It burned when he touched my shoulder."

"Okay, so then its Father Andrew whose doing it." Dean stated matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"You said when he touched you it burned right?" Dean asked excitedly, and Sam nodded hesitatingly to the question. "So, he's controlling it in some way."

"Dean, you were there. Ok? I mean, he's a priest and aside from that I-uh…I kind of hadanightmare."

"Huh? I didn't get that last part." Dean mumbled, stifling a yawn.

"I said, I uh…I had a nightmare." Sam confessed, dropping his gaze from his brother's intense one.

"Wait. You mean, the one the other night was about this whole mark thing and you just forgot to tell me!" Dean yelled, the sudden shift in air flow forcing him to double over on the bed. Sam placed a hand on his brother's arching back as the attack came.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just—"

"Sam. Don't." Dean heaved, shifting back onto the pillows and letting his head fall into them.

"So, I know you loathe the clergy, but I mean, Father Andrew seems legit, a little freaky, but still." Sam ventured after a couple minutes of silence, deterring the issue back to the case and not his past actions.

"I found some stuff." Dean mumbled slowly, his eyes drooping.

"Oh yeah. What kind of stuff?" Sam pressed, elated to see the pills finally taking hold and hoping Dean would thank him later, instead of kill him.

"On Andrew." Dean yawned and turned onto his stomach, shaking his head against the cloud of sleep that was forming.

"Oh ok. Well, you rest and uh…I'll read it. Okay? So, where'd you put it?" Sam asked regretting that the pills took hold too soon as he fumbled through the mass of pages strewn across the table and then turned his attention to the computer screen, "Dean, where'd you put it?"

Sam didn't get an answer and if the pills did what the box claimed, he wouldn't for some a long time.

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alright let me know what you thought! sorry for the wait...


	11. Different

Okay so the finale rocked! Just a note: Italics refers to the dream/vision. So there ya go...

* * *

Chapter 11

* * *

Sam slammed his fist into the coffee table, the impact sending a loud thud throughout the cramped room and a flutter of paper to the coarse carpeted floor. Usually, he wouldn't refer to himself as a violent person. Rarely did Sam ever have the urge to beat a man to a bloody pulp or bash his fist into a wall, and normally, even if the thought occurred to him, he would simply ignore it and do his best to internalize the situation without anyone coming to bodily harm, including himself. But this was different.

This was spending the past ten hours pouring over what your older brother misguidedly referred to as research when in reality itwas a mass of pages, scribbles, and websites that seemed to have no direct ties to the current events. Sure there was a sketch of the symbol adorning random pages every now and then, but Sam already knew what that looked like. The damned thingwas emblazed on his chest.

Sam pushed the rest of the scattered pages towards the other side of the table, and leaned back into the chair, doing his best to distance and disassociate from the wreckage that was Dean's organization and thought process, a process that seemed to hold the key according to his sleeping brother.

He let out a sigh, and brought his hands to his temples, massaging the bone slowly. Sam wasn't sure what bothered him more—his guilt or frustration. As far back as he could remember, he'd always struggled to grasp Dean's train of thought and how his brother could just look and know, see connections where he can't, and latch onto facts thatSam considered completely random and inconsequential. Of one thing Sam was certain, and that was his brother is the only person on the planet that makes his acceptance and excel at Stanford look like he went to the University of Backwoods, USA.

On the other hand, his brother's twisted sense of organizing material, which he realized must be genetic, isn't the problem. Rather, the problem is he doesn't know how to decipher it and the one person who can is now out cold, and has been since yesterday mid-afternoon. The blame of which can be placed on no one but himself, because no matter how much he wants to forget the action. He bought the pills, and he gave them to Dean effectively screwing himself.

He was beginning to wonder though if it was the pills making Dean sleep or the sickness that was holding him there. After about the first five hours, Sam had tried to wake Dean up to check on him because as far as he could tell, the elder hadn't moved an inch the entire time. Desperation throughout his venture into Dean's steel trap of a mind made him more anxious to rouse his brother, but Dean didn't even flinch at his intermittent touch, tap, or shake.

Sam lifted himself out of the chair, and began stretching out the kinks in his neck and shoulders, cringing at the creaking and occasion pop his stiff bones would give. His mouth opened in a silent scream when he crossed his left arm over his chest to stretch out the muscles and the movement jarred the raw skin clinging to his Tee.

The younger dropped his arms back to his side and slowly slumped down to the floor, resting up against the chipped wall. With all his worrying about concealing the whole ordeal from Dean and then dealing with his brother's illness, somehow Sam was convinced he'd lessened the pain in someway. Or at the very least whoever or whatever was controlling this thing was ignoring him in way, although that didn't seem logical because of the whole bathroom thing. Something that horrified Dean and he couldn't even remember, not in the slightest.

But now it hurt. Bad. The throbbing was back, it had started rather dull, but now the pulse of it was steady and growing painful by the second. Sam writhed against it, shifting to find a position where the agony would lessen or dissipate completely. It wasn't to be found, and he resorted to curling up into himself, trying desperately to breathe through the fire stemming from his chest that was working its heated course throughout his entire being. Darkness clouded his eyes, and he fought its hold fiercely until his body could no longer resist the pain and slowly succumbed to the black. Sam drifted into the realm of the unconscious, Dean's name on his lips.

_---------_

_Crumbling walls surround him, each brick falling revealing pieces of an old hidden world behind it. A dull indistinguishable roar reaches his ears growing to deafening levels before the incoherent phrases morph into meaningful words._

_The words are carried upon the harsh wind that rushes past him. Its wafting brush against his skin sharper than knives as it pierces his body and forges through every piece of him. He opens his mouth to scream against the agony but a hand, skeletal and clothed in remnant shards of black-tinged skin covers his mouth and steals the breath from his lungs._

_His eyes widen in panic as his body is turned to watch the last remainder of the wall breaks free and expose the crimson red altar behind. Sulfurous breath fills his senses as the voice of the one who holds him speechless resounds throughout the hallowed place lingering therein and stealing away all logic and reason within it's threshold. The message of the wizened takes hold of him, a steady mantra repeated until he accepts it._

_He takes his place upon the altar without a fight for he hears the words spoken and knows them to be true. His eyes fall to the oozing black from his chest and the hooded aged figures that surround but their presence brings no fear, but allegiance and honor for they have chosen him_.

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Dean groaned at the flickers of sunlight that danced on his closed eyelids. His head pulsated mercilessly and his mouth held the ever-the-favorite taste of dried cotton. He peeled his eyes open slowly, grimacing at the shimmering beams of light. He tried to shift his body into a semi-upright position, but found that none of his limbs seemed to really want to cooperate and in fact, appeared to be under the impression that some heavy weight lay on top of them and they simply weren't able to.

So he waited, something he wasn't prone to do naturally, but the stillness of the room was cohesive to such a state. As the minutes ticked by, he found that the some parts of the body took longer to wake up than others. A revelation, he decided, he'd had to inform Sam about.

Once he felt that everything was ready to function like they were supposed to, Dean shifted over onto his side and pushed himself up. His chin fell to rest on his chest because apparently the head takes longest to wake up from such a state of heaviness. Upon reaching the desired position, he lolled his head back to the headboard and waited for his eyes clear.

Dean knew when they did, because a straggled gasp escaped him when he saw Sam sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. His brown orbs shone with emotions that could be dubbed as mischievous and calculating as they scanned him.

The elder didn't return the sentiment in the least. His expression held an emotion more in the range of "pissed off". Dean's brain was moving a little slower than normal but he was able to come to the conclusion that the sun wasn't shining when he'd dozed off, last he could remember, and by the way Sam looked, the little sneak had had something to do with it.

"How long?" Dean rasped groggily, his hazel eyes piercing.

"17 hours." Sam offered, a smug grin plastered on his face, and didn't even flinch when Dean intensified his stare and started to lean towards him.

"What did you do?" The question reeked of accusation as Dean thought it should be and he felt his blood pressure raise a couple notches when Sam did nothing but shrug.

"Not my fault you're sick. You should've rested." It wasn't "motherly" in anyway. In fact the statement was almost cold and sent a shiver through Dean as he watched his brother slowly rise and grab his jacket off the opposite bed.

"And where do you think you're going?" Dean pressed, cocking his eyebrows in suspicion.

"To see Father Andrew." Sam replied lightly, as if the impending meeting meant nothing, and clutched the Impala's keys in his hand.

"Like hell you are!" Dean yelled, grunting as he worked his way off the bed and stood up.

"Language, Dean." Sam reprimanded and Dean's mouth dropped open in shock.

"What's the matter with you?" Dean grabbed Sam's arm tightly and jerked, forcing his younger brother to face him.

"Let me go." Sam ordered through clenched teeth. His former cheery persona shifting into an ominous one.

"No." Dean stated firmly, gripping Sam's arm a little harder.

"Ok."

"Huh?"

"I said okay." Sam complied, sinking down on the bed and looking up at Dean's puzzled face with an almost thrilled smirk as though he had been trying to get Dean into such a state.

"Alright, spill. What happened while I was out?" Dean questioned, trying to get his tired mind to work out what the hell was going on. "Did something get to you?"

"Why would you say that?" Sam asked innocently, a baffled grin plastered on his face effectively hiding the frantically spinning wheels in his brain.

"Are you kidding me?" Dean exasperated, wiping a hand over his face. "You—uh…dude, you're not yourself, let's just put it that way."

"How so?" Sam cocked his head to the side and donned a look of earnestness upon asking the question. He needed to know.

"Uh…Well, you're moody. But never like this. And last time I was conscious, something I still think you had a hand in by the way, you were all hovering and worried. Now you're all…you're all too happy for the Sammy I know, let's just put it that way."

"I see." Sam stated coolly

"What did you say?" Dean asked slowly, the phrase was not something Sam would use on most occasions but his tone was eerily familiar. "How's your chest?"

"Why?" Sam retorted, irritation seeping into his voice.

"Let me see it." Dean pressed, stepping towards his brother, his expression demanding "no-nonsense".

"No!" Sam screamed and started to move away, but then almost as suddenly he stilled and proceededin taking off his shirt and exposing the clear and completed mark adorning his chest.

"God, Sam." Dean breathed, his attention captivated by the mark for a minute before shifting back to his brother. "You're not going anywhere near that church."

"You gonna stop me?" Sam taunted, standing up to full height, looking down at Dean.

"That a threat?" Dean shot back, mimicking Sam's stance the best he could.

"No." Sam smirked, taking a step back, a new plan formed, "But you should go, I mean. Father Andrew is expecting me."

"Fine." Dean shook his head, and coughed a couple of times before grabbing his clothes and heading off to the bathroom. "You stay here. You got me?"

"Yes, I got you." Sam replied lightly, watching as his brother retreated into the bathroom, shutting the door with a click.

"You still want me to wait? What if he tries to stop us? He won't be able to, right, Father?" Sam asked the empty air, listening for the answer that lingered within his head, the voice not his own.

"The appointed time." Sam repeated, smiling widely, and waited for reassurance from his last few troubling questions.

"I didn't think so."

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alright lemme know what you think, and i apologize for taking so long. Thanx to HT and carocali for your help!


	12. Prepare

Chapter 12

* * *

Dean ran his fingers furiously through his soaked hair, flicking the excess droplets of water from the short spikes and letting them fall where they pleased. He wiped the ratty towel quickly over his bare chest, before quickly bringing it to his mouth to stifle another round of wet coughs.

Taking a deep breath, he wiped the steamy mist off the tiny mirror and gripped the edge of the sink for support as he took in his appearance with half-lidded eyes. A grimace clouded his pale face as he studied the sunken features, an outward sign of his current ailment. Dean brushed his hand over the protruding jaw line laced with coarse two-day stubble before lowering his hand and pulling on the waistband of his sagging jeans.

The elder attempted a sigh, but it came out as more of a ragged, halting breath as he slowly lowered his aching body to rest on the edge of the tub. Dean dropped his head in annoyance, in reaction to both his health condition and the piercing fluorescents whose dull light seemed to intensify each passing second.

Dean shifted on the porcelain edge, hitching up his pants a little and cursing under his breath for not remembering to grab a belt since his jeans had been riding low for the past three days. He scoffed and blamed the meds for his confusion. He hadn't owned a belt for almost five years. They weren't really "him".

Sam owned belts. Dean tried to muster a small laugh from his aching throat at the memory of helping his little brother with his collection as he liked to call it when he'd helped him pack up from Stanford. At the time, he'd wondered exactly what Sam did with all of those, and had even entertained the idea his little brother was "in to that kind of thing" although knowing it was all part of the "normalcy" Sam craved.

The entire stash was down to all but two. Dean had watched as each of the worn leather straps had been tightened into a makeshift tourniquet or used to steady a bandage slickwithfresh crimson. The haunting, clenching feeling that laid hold of his stomach every time Sam's face scrunched in concentration and a hint of sadness flickered in his eyes before resigning to take another belt from his bag and fastening it tightly to whatever bleeding appendage demanded it, literally, sickened him and brought a fresh wave of guilt for not having the courage to just find Dad on his own instead of forcefully dragging his little brother with him. What word had Sam used? Luggage.

Dean let out a raspy breath and brought his stiff fingers to his temples working futilely to quell the pounding migraine forming behind them. No matter what Sam said about wanting to find their father, or ranted about revenge, Dean couldn't help but notice that whole ordeal was draining the life out of his brother, not to mention trying to end it in the process.

Sam didn't smile anymore. Not that he had one permanently plastered on his face as a kid, but he'd reveal big, goofy grins more than not. Dean could vividly remember a time when Sam couldn't portray seriousness without cracking a small hint of a smirk or shooting off a witty response to the elder's dirty comments. He was more…laidback.

Not in everything. Certainly not when it came to big hunts or final exams, but in down time when their family was just lounging and waiting for the next job, he was. At Stanford, he was. Dean knew that because he'd witnessed it firsthand. He'd seen Sam with his friends and his new life, a life that didn't include him in the smallest portion but still managed to bring that smile to his brother's face.

But now, Sam's once young face was filled with worry lines or contorted in pain. But smiles, smiles were rare. When they did appear they were tight, trembling and quick, never meeting Sam's eyes. Dean had to resort to pulling pranks again just to see them and assure himself that his little brother still could do that simple, natural thing. But more so, that he hadn't been the one that stole Sam's ability to simply smile.

It wasn't just the smile, it was Sam's eyes as well. Dean huffed because that's how he knew the Sam that sat behind the chipped wooden door was not _his_ Sam. It was someone, something, manipulating or pretending to be him although unable to wear the worn mask of his little brother.

The light that once had illuminated Sam's eyes had fainted and dulled. Dean wondered every day if he'd ever see his brother truly happy again, but then couldn't recall a time when Sam actually was. Even when Sam talked about going back to school and living out his dream, the words felt empty. The slow swallow and pained flicker in the pools of brown betraying the hopeful sentences. Because they both knew it wouldn't be.

But the light was back. Or had been back before he'd slammed the bathroom door, and Dean reprimanded himself for being glad to see it because it wasn't the same. The gaze Sam had given him was playful yet incredibly cold. And his eyes had followed every movement Dean had made with calculation and intense study. The elder was convinced that even if Sam hadn't have given him a taste of mood swings on speed, he would've known somehow by just looking at his younger brother's eyes.

Whatever entity he'd pissed off, Dean wasn't sure, but why they felt his family needed to be pummeled and ripped to shreds would be a mystery for the ages. He'd lost his father. Well, Dad was still alive but AWOL, and that's worse. At least in his book, although he would never admit it to Sam or anyone else for that matter. And now this thing is doing it's damned best to steal his brother, and has already taken part of him.

It was complete. The mark was complete, fully etched into Sam's skin. A sign of certain death, so the research declared. Dean dropped his head into his hands and shut his eyes tightly to prevent the burning wetness from escaping the heavy lids. Dying. Sam was dying.

If he was the realist he claimed so adamantly to be, then Death was final. The one thing in life that was absolutely guaranteed and plagued everyone regardless of race, age, or sex and all the extra research he'd looked intothrough pure desperation alone about resurrection and bringing back the dead was nothing but pointless idle thoughts and void possibilities.

Dean bit his lip hard in frustration and rage. It wasn't fair. It wasn't. There was no way anyone could make this whole thing seem rational and ordained. No possibility existed for someone to tell him it was Sam's "time" or that the whole crap-load of circumstances were all part of some entity's, thathe didn't believe in, idea of a plan.

It wasn't going to happen, simply because he wasn't going to let it. Whatever it took, he was going to give it. An exchange seemed a possibility and he was prepared for that if the situation presented itself. If he needed to kill something, _someone,_ he wouldn't give it a second thought. Screw logic, screw morals, and screw ethics. This wasn't any of those things. This was Sam.

The person he'd been instructed, no, ordered to save over 22 years ago. A command he'd kept for that entire length of time, only failing a couple of times, but never wavering or shirking his responsibility. It was his purpose in life--his reason to get up in the morning and fight, as pathetic as that sounded.

Sam didn't understand, he never had, but his constant protective shield wasn't something their father had forcefully instilled. It was something that Dean had wholeheartedly embraced, despite the challenges the thankless position held. Dad had revenge, and now Sam had it too, but Dean had only them. That was it, no friends to go back to or lovers to embrace once more. Just Sam. Just Dad.

His fight and tenacity flowed from that fact alone. The battle waged in vengeance was fought in hope that his family would emerge unscathed and strong. Dean had sworn himself to quit, to lay down the sword and stop, if ever the surviving members of that heated night were to join the world of his mother.

But the battle wasn't fair. It wasn't equally matched in any way, and it was snatching away Dean's entire existence in rapid succession and forcing his hand. He wanted it over. Just over and done. But while he could almost resign himself to allow other countless people to experience pain and suffering, he could never allow it to his brother. He'd rather die first. Dean figured he probably would, but not until he killed whatever son-of-a-bitchwho was trying to take Sammy.

Rubbing at his burning throat, Dean stood and shuffled back to door, halting in front of it. He knew his enemy, his scattered research and the "new" Sam's insistence on seeing him confirmed it, now he had just to confront it. Dean opened the door slowly, pleased and tormented to see that his brother hadn't moved and still sat on the edge of the bed, his sparkling eyes watching.

Dean turned his head abruptly, coughing into his shoulder, and trudged over to his bag to gather a fresh shirt, silently preparing himself for the war at hand.

-------

Alright there ya go. Lemme know what you think. I thought an introspection chapter was needed to a point cause i focused on Sam's POV last time. Feel free to comment on that decision. Thanx to HT and carocali for the go ahead and have a great day/night! And thanx for reading and reviewing--it is much appreciated.


	13. Anger

Chapter 13

* * *

Silence tightened its firm grip over the dim room lit only by the few streams of morning light that managed to pierce through the closed shade. The musty, recycled air had thickened to suffocating proportions and had it not been for the rustling of his duffle as he searched for clean clothes or the slow, lulling whirr of the laptop, Dean would've been driven stir-crazy.

The elder glanced warily over at his brother. Sam had yet to move from his earlier position on the bed, not even shifting his weight from time to time. His little brother for once in his life was completely and utterly still. The only part of Sam that did move was his eyes.

Empty, emotionless brown orbs traced Dean's every move, the eyes roaming slowly over each small motion the elder made with extreme fascination. While Dean made a point not to let this new version of Sam out of his line of sight, this Sam's eyes were boring into him and the intensity behind the stare was piercing.

Dean was far from at ease in his brother's presence. The usual, calming lull in conversation was now replaced with a sense of caution and a slight fear of the unknown. The older Winchester was beginning to feel like an unwanted outsider as the minutes ticked by, and worse yet like he was being analyzed for the slightest moment of weakness in order to give whatever lay behind those watching eyes the upper hand.

"He's expecting me." Dean jerked when Sam's cool tone shattered the silence and forced him out of his thoughts. The elder stifled a pained groan at his sore muscles and slowly pulled a shirt, that at the very least smelled clean, over his head to try and cover the startled look he knew his face held.

"Yeah, well, he's gonna get to see me." Dean replied stiffly, grimacing when the light cotton material stuck to his damp, sweaty skin.

"He won't like that." Sam stated matter-of-factly although his eyes flickered maliciously.

"Do I look like I care?" Dean snapped heatedly, his forehead creased in frustration. He shuddered out a deep breath and worked to pop a couple of pills from their holding pack before the fever and cough he was fighting destroyed his chances of even getting to the church. Not like the real Sam was around to actually see him taking them, and if he was, Dean prayed to everything holy he wouldn't remember.

"It doesn't matter. The time is appointed." Sam's icy words held finality, but if Dean sensed it, he didn't show it.

"Like hell it is." Dean argued, pulling on his jacket even though a thick sheen of sweat covered every inch of him, another thing his Sam would've pointed out.

"You can't stop it." The younger taunted, a challenge gleaming in his eyes.

Dean hastily sorted through his journal and array of notes and whipped out a couple of pages before clearing the entire distance between him and his brother in all of about two strides. With the pages clenched tightly in his fist, he knelt down in front of Sam, leveling himself to where their eyes had no option but to lock.

"Wanna bet?" Dean challenged, his expression hard and menacing. He waited for a response, for whatever evil had latched on to his brother to show itself, but wasn't given the luxury.

Taking a deep breath, the elder worked to steady his temper and with a good bit of effort managed to smooth out the furrow in his brow and the fire behind his eyes. Reminding himself once again as he had hours before that this wasn't really Sam.

"Look, Sam. I know you're in there somewhere." Dean began, searching his little brother's gaze for even the slightest flicker that their true, warm likeness had replaced the cold, steely one. _C'mon Sammy, win out. You can beat this thing. _

"Okay, then. So, I'm entertaining a crowd of two today. That's cool." The crinkling of paper was the only sound heard for a couple of minutes as Dean tried to calm his nerves and organize his thoughts, and Sam sat and watched the routine passively. _Just do something, dammit!_

"Alright." Dean muttered, holding up a hand as a sign to wait as he turned his head and coughed into his shoulder. When the worst of the attack had passed, Dean stumbled back over to the coffee table, grabbing the room temperature bottle of water and taking a few sips before returning to sit along side his brother. _God help me._

"So, listen up. 'Cause I'm only gonna say this once." Dean paused, searching his brother's features yet again for a hint of his Sam but received a blank stare in return. _Dude, I swear, you look at me one more time like that and I'm…_

"I think you're right about the immortality thing." Another lull, but then it was probably one of two times Dean actually admitted Sam was right, at least to his face, and yet that didn't manage to muster a reaction from the younger.

_Sam, that was history in the making, dude. I just said you were right. I actually admitted you were right. Wanna give a reaction here?_

"Alright, so yesterday when I was doing a search on Father Andrew, I couldn't find a thing. Not even a license, dude. But then I came across this article here, see?" Dean shoved the crumpled paper in front of Sam's face and was surprised when Sam slowly raised a hand to accept it but didn't make any motion to read it. _Now that's the Sammy I know, all research._

"It's a report on one of those pillar of the community award things from a county in Ohio, and Father Andrew accepted it. So, uh…the thing is that this ceremony was held thirty years ago, and look." Dean pointed to a figure on the far left of the image, waiting for Sam to follow his line of sight before continuing. _Why don't you want to look? C'mon, I'm on a roll here._

"I mean, the caption says it's Andrew but he's old. Well, older than he looks now. And then I checked the local obits and there were fifteen unexplained deaths in the area. And get this…the local authorities think that the boys were in a cult because they all wore the same tattoo. So, I'm thinking that Andrew marks his victims and then uses their life force or whatever to make himself younger. But if he looks old there and not here, I guess it can regress and that's why there are so many deaths."

_Truth: It's the only semi-logical thing I could come up with and the only thing that gives me a way to save you Sam._

Still silence took the room captive once again. Dean watched pensively as Sam continued to stare at the image, never blinking. The elder shifted uncomfortably, wincing at the tightness ever present in his chest.

His long explanation had worn him out and he wanted nothing more than to crash. Blinking heavily, Dean fought off the wave of exhaustion that sought to take its hold, reminding himself to down a couple of his caffeine pills on the way out. _Can't sleep not until Sam is back. Just can't._

He didn't have to fight hard though, the stillness shattered mere seconds later, and the sinking, clenching feeling that had held his heart in a vice since the beginning seized him with a vengeance.

"Close, but not close enough."

"What?"

"It's a good start though." Sam continued, extending his hand and offering the article back to Dean. "Definitely commendable."

"Alright, that's it." Dean snapped. _He's mocking me. Sam-- not Sam--that thing is mocking me. Dammit, I'm trying, can't you see that? So, I'm not friggen' Heraldo. Big deal._

Dean gripped Sam tightly by the shoulders and shaking him hard, fully intending to launch a verbal assault and a physical one if it came to that. He was blindly losing the battle and this thing that had taken hold of his brother was throwing it in his face.

"Let go." Sam commanded, his voice eerily low. _That's not my little brother's voice. _

A stunned Dean hesitantly complied, snatching the article from Sam's hand and storming over toward the table to shove it back into his journal, his mind screaming for him to just calm down. _I can't hurt my brother. I mean, a part of it is still Sam, right?_

"He's waiting." Dean chewed his lower lip, continuing to gather his things and search for the car keys. "I _said_ he's waiting." _Maybe I can._

"I heard you the first time. And I think I already said that I don't care." Dean stated haughtily, jingling the keys to his precious baby and opening the motel door. "And just so you know, I'm gonna figure this out and get Sam, my Sam, back. Then I'm gonna hunt your ass down. You got me?" _And everything related to you, resembling you, anything you've ever come in contact with. No one touches my little brother and gets away with it, you got me?_

"Your Sam is chosen and unless you figure out a way to resurrect the dead you'll never have him--me--back." _Not if I can help it. What if I'm wrong, or late or… No, not gonna happen._

Dean blinked repeatedly. Wordlessly, he stepped out into the blinding mid-morning sun and shut the door behind him, ignoring the tightness in his chest that seemed to cut off his air supply, and the clenching of his heart firm enough to stop its beating.

He couldn't give into any emotion but anger. It brought him strength and tenacity, and nothing tasted more bittersweet in his mouth than vengeance. He craved it. That bastard had dared mess with his brother and there was no way in hell he was going to win out and kill Sam.

Dean turned the key in the ignition, shifted into gear, and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. He knew what he was going to do. His only question "is it wrong to hit a priest?"

-------------------

So...there ya have it. I'm so sorry it took so long. Having to push through the whole brick wall thing. So, hopefully this chapter turned out ok. Lemme know what you think.


	14. Losing

Chapter 14

* * *

Dean damn near had enough. For one, church people drive too slow and apparently every one in the friggen city of Atchison was one. And since when does a person need to break and blink before every single turn? The throbbing that pulsated pure agony through his head refused to dull, and the vice that held his chest tightened with every breath. At least his bloodshot eyes weren't sliding shut. That fact alone was enough to make Dean want to declare caffeine his god.

A stream of curses flew out of Dean's mouth as he banged his fist against the steering wheel and slammed on the brakes to avoid the stupid teenage pedestrians that had run out across the small side street. The elder never could understand why he had to yield to morons anyway, if someone was stupid enough to step out into oncoming traffic they deserved to be hit.

The traffic rounded the final corner, making the entrance to the church clearly visible, the gothic doors stained red open wide to welcome in the congregation. A wooden cased sign was positioned at the end of the sidewalk and Dean scanned it hastily to see exactly when the Mass was to begin.

Grimacing, Dean dropped his head to his chest, taking a deep steady breath in a futile attempt to calm himself and even out his skyrocketing blood pressure when he realized he had all of about thirty minutes to get to Andrew and depending on how the confrontation went, maybe kick the dude's ass.

Gravel spun upwards at an alarming rate as the Impala whipped into the parking lot. Dean jerked the car haphazardly to the right, barely managing to squeeze the classic in between the parked cars and the long line of waiting cars as he flew past them. He smirked evilly when he caught sight of an empty one on the left, and completely disregarding the oncoming traffic as well as the established line itself, Dean turned the wheel hard and accelerated into the spot.

The honking sounds blaring from the cars didn't deter him one bit as he slammed the car door shut and began the trek to the church. Patience was not in his vernacular, and since they were church people they had to forgive him anyway. So, what difference did it make if he pissed them off a bit? There were bigger things at stake here than losing your parking space in an unlined gravel lot, no less.

A large crowd of people huddled at the entrance, each one taking their time to greet the parishioners as they stepped into the cathedral. Dean barreled through them all, nearly stumbling when he cleared the crowd. The cool air conditioning hit his sweaty clammy skin like a breath of fresh air, and Dean stopped short in the main aisle, glancing around the open hall and scanning the audience for any sign of Father Andrew.

"Can I help you sir?" Dean jerked back when a hand laid to rest on his shoulder and grit his teeth when he saw another man in priestly attire staring back at him with scrutinizing eyes.

"Father Andrew. Where is he?" the Winchester inquired sharply.

"He's in his office preparing." the man replied simply, appearing completely unaffected by Dean's forcefulness.

Dean nodded quickly, and turned on his heels to begin storming off down the aisle and towards the office, when a firm hand gripped his arm. The elder Winchestersnapped his head to the side and glared angrily at the old, gray-haired man. He tried to jerk his arm free, but a force unnatural to any man seeming the age of the priest before him clamped down.

"You can't go back there." The command was firm, but Dean wasn't inclined to heed it.

"Watch me." Dean challenged, shaking his head when the instantaneous memory of the first time he'd heard that phrase jolted into his mind.

He pulled back again, this time colliding with another member of the congregation without apology forcing the priest to release him. The older man reached out for him again, but Dean was faster and all too experienced in avoiding unwanted scenarios. He melded into a group of people chatting about the Vatican II or something like that and worked his way through them and back into open space where the back hallway was in sight.

It took less than a minute for him to locate the correct office. The hurried footfalls that resounded behind him during his entire venture came to a quick stop and out of the corner of his eye Dean caught sight of the same priest from earlier pause before continuing to shuffle the rest of the way to meet him all the while reprimanding him for not heeding his earlier instruction.

Dean copped a smug smirk, and with one quick move flung the office door wide open with a bang and stomped in. The figure behind the desk didn't even budge at the sound. Father Andrew sat still, head bowed over an aged text, his lips moving slowly, the small whispering of muttering faint against Dean's heavy breathes.

"What did you do to my brother?" Dean demanded, stalking up the desk and positioning himself directly in front of the man.

"I'm sorry, Father, I tried to tell him---"

"You." Dean pointed, whipping around to face the source of the annoying interruption, "Shut the hell up."

Father Andrew refused to acknowledge the use of obscene language in his revered quarters or the fact that a raging madman was staring down at him with fire in his eyes. The priest simply continued his chant, lingering within the trance that held him.

Dean studied the Father for a brief moment, and for a split second tried to make out a piece of what he knew to be Latin coming from the man's mouth. But he honestly could've cared less. This man was responsible for the way his brother was acting.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Dean yelled, reaching out and lightly hitting Father Andrew's shoulder to warrant the man's attention.

Father Andrews head flung upright at lightening speed. Dean stumbled backwards in horror as empty orbs whiter than porcelain locked his own. Regaining his footing, Dean maneuvered slowly towards the door, never turning his back towards the Father.

"Father Micheal. Leave us." The deep steely command was followed shortly by a soft click as the servant wordlessly obeyed, leaving Dean alone with Father Andrew. With haunting grace, the priest rose from his seat and stepped from behind the desk.

"Y-you" Dean stuttered, struggling to find his voice.

"What about me?" Father Andrew pressed, covering the distance between them with two long strides, his white orbsflickering menacingly.

"You marked my brother." Dean spat, rage and utter disgust intertwining themselves within the words.

"No, I _chose_ your brother." The priest insisted, taking another step forward into Dean's space forcing the young man to take another precautionary step back, sending the Winchester frowning as the hard wooden panels pressed into his back. He was trapped.

"Sam never did anything to you." Dean argued, shifting and working to inch himself away from the confrontation, but Father Andrew merely swayed lightly towards whatever direction Dean sought, blocking the young man's path effectively.

"Of course not. That is how it must be." The priest explained, "A sacrifice must be innocent and willing."

"My brother doesn't have a death wish, and sure as hell wouldn't let some wack job kill him because the psycho is scared to die."

"He does now." Father Andrew insisted, pushing forward until nothing but the slightest wisp of air remained between them. His lips curled up and his lined face sneered at his superiority to the older brother.

"I'm in here." The priest taunted, tapping a finger to his temple.

"I'm gonna kill you." Dean threatened, his eyes narrowing, face pinched, and voice scratchy.

"Unfortunately, that's impossible." The Father replied coolly, taking a small step back from his cornered enemy. "Nothing man made can harm me."

"So what? Immortality makes you invulnerable." Dean scoffed, adjusting his jacket and straightening his stance.

"Something like that." The priest offered, turning his back to Dean and returning to his desk, retrieving the open worn book, the yellowed pages marred with tar-black scribbling before cramping the young man's space yet again, shoving the bounded pages towards his face, the smell of rotting ink and paper flooding Dean's senses.

"Only this can stop us." With a sharp slam, the priest snapped the book shut.

The sound barely reached Dean's ears before a sharp pain pierced his skull and his eyes beheld the starkest and most blinding white. A scream faded on his lips as all faded into the darkest black.

-------------

Sam jolted from the bed, gripping his head tightly, his face twisted in pure anguish as he fell to the floor. He succumbed to the blinding pain, writhing beneath it, and praying for relief. Sweet relief.

It came with a bang, a loud sound resonating throughout his mind, and penetrating through the agonizing haze. A wave of confusion overtook him as he slowly let his eyes drift along the crappy motel interior.

"D-dean" Sam whispered hoarsely, rubbing away the dulling pain from his temples. "Dean."

A moment of clarity sent him into a state of worry and panic. Dean wasn't here. He left or—or was taken. Sam wasn't sure. He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember? It only lasted a second, all sense of reality vanished yet again as Sam sought to rise, but fell to the ground lifelessly.

The bond had been severed for but an instant, but no longer.

"The appointed time." Sam murmured, his eyes rolling back in his head as the chant resumed it's playing in his mind.

-------

**PLEASE READ!**

Okay so more action this time around, hitting the big climax you know? Anyways, just wanted to let you guys know that in the absense of new epis of Supernatural, some writers, including myself have been working on what's known as a Virtual Season. Basically it's "episodes" that are written in prose format but will be released once a week starting July 11th. If you're interested in checking that out---the link will be in my profile...So with that said, lemme know what you think! and thanks to my people for giving me the go ahead and thanks to you guys for reading and reviewing.


	15. Clarity

Chapter 15

* * *

Dean groaned loudly, lifting his head a bit as his eyes fluttered open, or so he thought. The cool stone floor beckoned his fever-hot skin, and he slowly lowered his head back down onto it letting the numbing cold ease his throbbing skull and sweaty body.

His eyes half-lid, he worked to make out his surroundings. To say his stone prison was dark would be the understatement of the century. The black veil that held the room captive was thick, preventing anything and everything from being seen. Dean turned a well-trained ear and concentrated hard to locate even the faintest sound.

Confident that Father Freak or any of his fellow psychotics weren't around, Dean pressed his palms firmly against the floor and took a deep breath before pushing himself up. Jerkily, he managed to get his knees under him and sighed with relief when he gained enough strength to stand. _Damn, I feel old._

He didn't get very far in the motion, a sharp tug to his wrist and the taunt quiver of metal wrenched him backwards and completely off of his almost non-existent balance. Dean's shaky breathing halted completely as he braced his body for the impending fall and he drew blood as his teeth broke skin working to stifle the scream that ravaged his body as the dull thud of flesh on stone broke the silence.

"Son. Of. A. Bitch." Dean gasped, fighting against his bonds, the metal tearing into his wrist.

Giving them a sharper tug, he determined they had to be latched onto a wall or some object that lay behind him. _Great, I would get the kinky priest. _Positioning himself into the best version of a sit he could manage, Dean slowly began to scoot backwards towards the chain's origin. A small cry fled his lips when he rammed into a wall of some sort, the sharp stone bruising his back. _OW!_

Methodically, Dean rested his head against the wall, rolling it back and forth and shifting his weight until he found a place where the rocks didn't bore into his skull. He ended up in a half-slumped sit, the chains that bound him clanking out his captivity with each movement of his anxious hands until finally the clamoring noise became too much for his pounding head to handle and he had no choice but to set them idly in his lap. _This sucks._

Time spun on, although completely irrelevant and he sat, mesmerized by the swallowing darkness and the shaky rise and fall of his congested chest forcing out each tired exhale and sharp inhale.

His prison quarters seemed to stretch for endless miles with each passing breath. The boundaries hidden by blackened shields bending and breaking, taunting him with a way out, a way back to Sam---a way he was unable to take. He was losing, had lost, and failed the one sure thing in his entire life, the one thing that summed up his entire pathetic existence.

Sam was his coming and going, his reason to fight, to persevere, to act strong and play the hero, to protect, to simply breathe. Dean didn't have anything to call his own, he knew that. There wasn't a single possession that didn't hold a bullet, or a sharp edge that bore his personal signature. _Way it should be, dammit! I'm not a chic so why the hell am I acting like one?_

But, still, his brother was blood, a bond that would never be changed, mangled, or broken throughout even the worse of deaths. And Dean had prepared him for such a death. He'd been the one to train when his dad was absent, to condition Sam's mind and mold it into the hunter he should be, and was. He'd overcooked the oatmeal, and fought the dripping wet toddler seeking exile from the tub. He'd read the stories, and he'd tucked him in. He'd done it all and Sam depended on him, maybe still did.

And that made Sam his to some extent. Sam relied on him for food, shelter, and comfort. He'd come to big brother for any problem, seeking his council over anyone else's, including their father's. Sam was his to protect and guide and offer some sense of normality too.

All was good until he'd left, the one thing Dean clung to more than oxygen had abandoned him. But he'd come back and that was enough for the moment. Although, all the reconciliation in the world couldn't, and wouldn't patch up the tattered remains of the past two years spent in absolute silence between them. They'd missed too much, and grown up too much. _Too different. But a lot alike. Huh…_

Dean blinked away the burning wetness filling his eyes. The pain of that horrible day was more than enough to rip his heart out, but it paled next to the agony of knowing he'd never being able to tell his brother what he'd really thought about the whole thing. How proud he'd been, and damn floored that his Sammy had done so well, and had dreams. Real dreams and ambitions that were unique only to Sam. And that was something Dean would never be able to indulge in himself. _God, hell on earth if I'd have went off to school. If Sam thought Dad was mad when he left…sheesh._

Silently, he cursed his dad's and his own stubbornness, his pride, and his lack of expression regarding anything emotion-wise. His walls were tall, their foundation deep, and they had kept him safe through many of life's deserts and barren wastelands, but they'd also had prevented him from letting Sam in. He had denied his own brother access to what made him the best big brother ever, in his opinion..

His thoughts and ideas remained scribbled in a worn leather book, instead of finding their way to his brother's ear. He'd missed more opportunities than he even wanted to acknowledge to tell Sam about their mother. He should've, regardless of how tight the pain clenched his heart. His little brother deserved to know who she was, and how great she was. Why when she smiled the whole world seemed right, and even the shattered porcelain of her favorite figurines wasn't enough to make her stop loving you and she swore she always would.

He was losing, had lost, because now there was no way Sam would ever know. Dean couldn't even fathom a life without his brother, even when he'd left for school, the elder could wander there and watch, or call. Something. But this, this end, was final, unyielding. _Damn, death makes whiny bitches of us all._

Sam was going to venture down a path that Dean, for once, couldn't tag along for the journey no matter how badly he wanted to. It was worse that Dean knew it wasn't Sam making the decision, it was someone else deciding to steal and manipulate something that wasn't rightfully his. _That bastard._

A strong, hunter part of him screamed for him to fight, that the battle wasn't over, and that the tide could change. But the more Sam-like part of him, the reason and logical part of him calmly refuted that belief. He was chained to a wall, his brother was alone in the hotel, at least he was hours ago, and under some from of spell. No visible escape and no shroud of hope.

It was futile. All or any resistance to his current situation would only bring hurt and a deeper sense of agony when all came to a crashing halt but still he couldn't stop. He was trained to fight and protect and that outweighed every thing else.

Furiously, Dean wrestled with the chains, his fingers moving desperately, searching within the dark for some weakness in the metal bonds. He twisted, pulled, and jerked until his arms were damp with a substance he could not see, but knew to be blood. The coppery smell was easily recognizable. _Stop, Dean, stop. Think this is bad? Talk about living hell if you couldn't touch anything and everything ever again. Exploring's half the fun anyway. _

Dean grit his teeth, _One more try, _andyanked harder before letting out a angry cry to the walls that encased him, to the evil that had sought him out and hurt his family, and to whatever good that existed in the world for shunning him, ignoring him as he and his family strove onward ridding the walking hell-wrought menaces from the earth and above all for letting his brother walk blindly to his death.

His guttural rant was shut off by the creaking and groaning off in the distance followed by the dancing orbs of bright light that found him, eyes wide in anger and bloody fists clenched. Dean blinked as the blinding rays hit his eyes and turned his head away from it and the figures that wielded them until his vision could adjust. _Great, now I'm blind._

Dean rolled his head slowly back towards the direction of the lights and waited until the priests were mere inches from his prone form before bucking forward and kicking out his legs manically. A smug grin plastered on his face as felt the jarring of bone and the yelp of pain from one of the three. _Take that, stupid asshole. Friggen dogs know better than to mess with Dean Winchester._

His victory was short-lived. Firm hands gripped his legs at the knee their fingers digging in around the bone as they forced them to the ground with a dull thud. Dean struggled against the two men, who were obviously Father Andrew's sidekicks, as they held fast but they merely bore down on him harder with each movement and he had no choice but to succumb. _Easy on the merchandise, fellas…_

"Judging from all that screaming and kicking, I assume you're glad to see us." The deep voice clipped, and Dean didn't have to work his brain too much to know it was the crazy ass priest himself.

"Yeah, just tell me you were smart and didn't lose the key. Would hate for some church member to wander down here and find me all chained up and get the wrong idea. Priests and all, you know," Dean mocked, rattling the chains as he turned to face his captor down. _No, seriously, 'cause these things are a bitch._

"Clever. But I'd advise you that it would be in your best interest to keep your filth to yourself." Father Andrew chided, stooping over so his face was level to Dean's.

"And if I don't?" Dean pressed. _I got to learn how to shut my mouth._

"You'll get to watch." The priest rose to his full height, and watched the mix of emotions cloud the young captive's face._ Oh that's brutal._

"Do I have to pay full price or can I get a discount since it's my brother your killing?" Dean joked, his only reason being he had no clue what else to do. _Gonna have to wire it shut, is what I'm gonna have to do._

"Why don't you ask him? Seeing as he is to be the main attraction." Father Andrew taunted, his head tilting to the side as he studied Dean's face for a reaction.

"Would if I could, but I can't. You made sure of that." Dean stated heatedly, his eyes drifting to his bonds once again. _Nonchalant…don't act desperate._

"But you can. Sam is here." Father Andrew's mouth twisted into a sneer at the revelation and the horror that claimed Dean's features.

"W-what?" Dean stuttered. Any chance at time to escape, to save his brother was gone. Sam had walked into their trap._ Crap. Crap. Crap_

"Yes. Shall I have Father Michael and Father Christopher bring him in?" The priest didn't wait for a reply, and Dean didn't give him the satisfaction of one. Father Andrew simply nodded to the two men holding Dean, and they understanding, released him and disappeared back into the dark.

Dean's body shivered in apprehension and fear of what awaited him when his brother was let in. He couldn't see him, but he could hear the two followers mumbling things to someone other than themselves, and make out three sets of footfalls. _If they so much as hurt him, I'm gonna kill 'em._

He could've cried in relief when he saw his brother unmarred and just as Sam-like as ever, only he was Dean and simply didn't. Sam towered above him, dark hair mussed and clouding his eyes. The eyes Dean knew were empty, but comfort still existed in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to see them.

"We have things to attend to, brothers. Let us leave them. The last few _real_ words spoken are always a comfort to those left behind." Father Andrew stated coolly, his white orbs meeting Dean's as he lowered his light to the ground and followed his brethren out.

"Sam." Dean muttered weakly, his chin dropping to his chest, "Sammy, I'm sorry."

"Why?" The question stung in Dean's ears. It was warm and so Sam. But it couldn't be, it had to be another game, just a cruel trick Andrew was playing. _I'm gonna turn that dude into a eunuch. I swear to God…okay focus…Sammy…_

"I can't stop it. You're g-gonna…" Dean drew in a rattle breath, and brushed a hand across his face, working to regain his composure and remind himself that he was doing this more for himself and his later infinite guilt trip, not for the shell that dared call itself his brother. "I'm gonna lose you, Sammy, and I can't even put up a fight."

"Yeah, but you're Dean. You always save the day." Sam replied nonchalantly, sinking down to the floor across from Dean and looking at him. Really seeing him, the eyes that were once so clouded and void were morphing, slowly softening and melting into the deep soulful pools of brown Dean knew so well. _Oh God…please…_

"Sammy?" Dean's voice held the quality of a whimper, hope intertwined as he watched his little brother shake his head, shut his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in the same way he did for every migraine or vision as he waited for release.

"D-dean?" Sam opened his eyes slowly, and blinked away the remnants of pain-induced blur. "Dean! Oh god, are you okay?" _Stupid question, college boy._

"Hell of a lot better now." Dean murmured, wincing as his brother worked to free him from his bound. "They won't budge, Sammy."

"I can get it." Sam protested, pulling harder until Dean could feel the raw skin scraping off his wrist.

"Stop it, Sam, you're hurting me." Dean stated firmly, "Just stop."

"What happened, I mean, what…I was in the hotel, and then you were gone. You left, why'd you leave?" Sam sounded so young, and so confused that Dean could feel his heart crumbling.

"Sam, you're marked. You remember that?" Dean asked pointedly, but soothingly.

"Yeah." Sam mumbled. _Yeah, I bet you do...the way you say it makes it just so believable._

"Well, Father Andrew, he---that bastard used that to take hold of you somehow. You weren't you. And I left to stop him before he could hurt you. He wants to kill you." Dean rambled, not sure if he was making sense, but by the size of his brother's eyes, he guessed he was. _Something click, please!_

"But I am me." Sam replied, clearly puzzled. _Dammit! Use that massive brain of yours geek boy!_

"You are now. He must've released you so he could prepare for the sacrifice. Or knew you were locked in so it's not like you could run off." Dean thought aloud. _Or wanted to torture me further by letting see what I was gonna lose._

"Sacrifice? You mean, the murders." Sam questioned, trying to piece back the jumbled mess that was his memory. _Now, you're getting it._

"Yeah, Sammy, 'cept they were sacrifices. Andrew and his psycho friends used the victims, the marked victims, as a sacrifice for immortality." Dean admitted, leaning wearily back onto the wall. _We should so look into that one Sammy boy minus the freaky sacrifice stuff. I can't keep going through all this 'are you gonna die today' stuff._

"I knew." Sam muttered, "It-it was like I was there. But watching. I saw it."

"A nightmare. A vision?" _I gotta call someone about those._

"Yeah." Sam nodded, turning pleading eyes to his brother, "What are we going to do Dean?"

"You have to fight it, Sammy. Andrew's using a chant or something from this old book, but I really don't see me getting my hands on that one. So, you have to do whatever you have to do to not give into it." Dean reasoned in his best authoritative "I'm the big brother do as I say" tone.

"What if I can't?" Sam asked fiercely, emotion breaking through each word, "What if I can't?"

"You can. And if worse comes to worse, I'll resort to saving your ass like I always do." Dean cracked a small smile, and was grateful that Sam returned the favor.

"Right." The younger stated disbelievingly, "Cause let's just forget all those times I was the one saving your's."

"Hey, you're four years behind, college boy." Dean retorted quickly. _Although he is catching up. I should start a running tally._

"Maybe so, but at least I have a plan." Sam shot back, winking to his brother as he pushed himself off the floor and back into a standing position and grabbing the discarded flashlight from the ground. _As always._

"Oh, really? Mind filling me in, here?" Dean asked to Sam's retreating form, "Sam? Sammy, where are you going? What are you doing? Come back here!" _Listening 101. When big brother speaks, you stop everything and pay attention. Oh right, Sam slept through that lecture._

"I can't, Dean." Sam replied slowly, "He's coming, I can feel it. If I don't go now, we won't have a chance in hell."

"What am I supposed to do, sit here?" Dean argued, biting down on his tongue to prevent him from saying anything absolutely horrible in what could be his final seconds with his apparently insane little brother.

"No, you pissed Andrew off, remember? You get to watch." Sam stated matter-of-factly, as if the entire possibility of his older brother watching his demise was nothing more than spending a Saturday watching cartoons. _Wonderful. Looking forward to it. This sucks._

"Sam, I—I, uh…"

"I know, Dean. Me too." Sam murmured before raising a fist and banging on entrance to the cell, summoning their captors.

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Alright there ya have it. Sorry it took a bit longer than i expected. Lots of things to hammer through, so thanx to HT for helping me out there! and uh...lemme know what you thought. The end is in sight...


	16. The Plan

**A/N: **_Okay, I'm really sorry it's taken me this long to update. Been working my ass off on the Virtual Season, and let this slip to the back burner. That's so not cool for me to do, soI apologize for my tardiness and hope that this update is worth the wait. I also hope that you guys will check out the VS, cause i really think you'll enjoy it. Okays so that's it...this chap is dedicated to my friend Naturally for kicking my ass and telling me to get it in gear! Thanx chica..._

* * *

Chapter 16

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Fire surged through him at the captor's lightening touch, the oxygen in the stone prison waning to a frightening level of suffocation beneath the radiating, intense heat. The figure held firm to his arm, dragging him down the long, damp hallway that spread the length of thousand pieces of coarse slabs of rock sealed together with the same tar black pitch. Death's clinging scent hung in the stale air as his captor pushed him on, and the copper undertone of blood was palpable. 

The youngest Winchester turned his eyes away from the stained walls to the source of the flaring touch. His gaze traveled slowly along the cloaked arm and hooded head of his faceless murderer. As if aware of his stare, the follower jerked his head and stared Sam down head on, the frosty whites of his eyes glimmering against the torch light.

Sam swallowed nervously, the words of his high school drama coach rolling around his mind. _Look the part._ With determined compliance, the dark-haired man slammed an unfazed mask in place, blanking his face and widening his eyes in trust, hoping the brown ringed pupils would convey the willingness and submission his captors desired. Why he had thought his small part in "Our Town" had been hard, he'd never know.

He should be afraid, the pounding tempo of his heart and shivering of his spine that he was trying so desperately to control, to conceal, revealed that. The situation at hand demanded he kick, scream, and fight. But the years of intense training under his father's command advised him otherwise.

Sam had loathed the stamina and strength of will challenges his Dad had commanded him and Dean to do, but what other choice was there than to acquiesce? It was there "bonding time" as his older brother had dubbed it. Although, Sam struggled to see how standing out in a murky swamp and allowing the hoards of mosquitoes and other of nature's damn pests have a go at you could be lovingly referred to as quality time.

His dad had sworn a point to his little excursions, although Sam called it a method to the man's madness. But now, he couldn't just see it, he understood it. Strength against all elements. Calm in the midst of outstanding attack. Complete mental control over your circumstances, not matter how harsh.

It was rough, and incredibly brutal, but in the light of the moment, all that time spent setting his mind like flint against the stinging welts inflicted upon his body, was now warranted. He found himself peacefully calm, not to the point of resignation, but to the acknowledgement that he would escape to fight another day, his brother along side.

Sam's mind was clear, focused. The plan he'd concocted, and bragged about so confidently to Dean seemed to be working so far. Playing along with the Father's expectations appeared to be working to his favor, none of the followers looked as if they picked up the mental shift he'd made. Although he didn't know how long the façade would hold once Andrew entered the picture again.

He gathered that whatever Father Andrew had done in the name of his crazed immortality by branding him and taking over his mind was completely under the man's control. The strange fact that Sam was on alert and was in full control of his mind baffled him. From what he could recall amidst the jumbled memories of the past few days of research, none of the other police reports or articles had reported the victims exhibiting any signs of a struggle.

Chosen. That had been the word echoing through his nightmares. How, he wasn't sure, but Sam figured Andrew governed whether or not his victims "knew" what was happening. It was as if the priest was the only one who knew where the on and off switch was and could sense where his sacrifice's mind was at.

The psycho wanted him coherent. He could sense it, and that thought alone shot to hell the fear of dying. Death was just another path, one he could handle for the most part. Enduring torture at the hands of a mad man was an entirely different thing. Sam's breath hitched at the oncoming affliction, but caught and steadied the exhales before either of his guards registered it.

Why? The nagging question gnawed at his stomach, churning the meager contents found there. It'd been his question all along, and the more he dwelt on it, the answer seemed blatantly obvious. He was different. Special. Psychic Boy. In all his dealing with wielding and controlling the supernatural, how could Father Andrew not pick up the Friends Network? Maybe if he worked it well enough, he could get Andrew to explain the difference in the selection process; his "gift" wasn't even under his control. But monologue-ing really didn't serve any other purpose but pissing off either the captor or captive, better yet both.

One thing was for damn sure. This "gift" was turning out to be a bitch. It was bad enough that every ghost, spirit, and monster they went after turned on him, even the crazy ass people wanted him, but Dean had always been there to save his ass. The thing was—this time there was no Dean. Well, his brother was around, but being chained to the wall was kind of had the same effect as leaving someone a voice message. You never knew when and if they were going to get it, and even when they responded, chances were it would be too late.

The prospect of the damn thing really getting him killed was unacceptable. Somehow, he was getting rid of the death trap his associates dotingly referred to as a "shining". God, if they only knew. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Death is the great equalizer, right? He'd get to be normal or at least on the same plain as everyone else. Maybe in his death, his "gift" would pass to Dean. Now, that'd be something that'd bring the world to its knees. The great Dean Winchester fully equipped with foresight and telekinesis. The thought alone almost blew Sam's stoic cover.

Unconscious movement propelled his long legs into another step, but a sharp jerk to his arm whipped Sam around to a sudden stop. Slightly taken aback by the quick circle, Sam struggled to get his bearing for a minute before his eyes focused on the tall, wide archway before him.

A row of lighted torches cast shadows on the curved walls of the hallway, and the followers noticeably changed their walking pace from hurried purpose to one of reverence. Sam shut his eyes for a brief moment, finding his center, and then prepared himself for stage two of his brilliant, yet insane plan to outwit his soon to be murderers as the hands guided him into the large, circular opening complete with a long stone table that reached his waist—the dreaded symbol engraved deep into the slate.

"It is time, Samuel." The fixed face of indifference faltered as cloaked figures appeared from every arc of the stone, surrounding the room and blocking the only exit visible in Sam's line of sight. _Uh…not good._

"Adveho," Sam met the speaker's hazy eyes on the Latin utterance. A cracked smirk appeared on the hidden figure as he stretched out his hand and gestured for Sam to comply. When Sam made no effort to move towards him, the figure snapped the order again, this time making a show of outstretching his slender arm and thrusting it back to his chest signaling for Sam to draw nearer.

As if on cue, the men that held him released their hold. Sam shuffled his feet and treaded slowly over to the beckoning man, his eyes scanning the room hastily as the distance grew shorter. Drawing nigh, the cloaked man stretched his arm out again, turning his skeletal hand palm up offering for the youngest Winchester to accept it.

The movement was Sam's hope, and he reached out to take the bony appendage. A startled shriek filled the tense air as Sam tightened his grip to the point of crushing. With a single yank, a sharp elbow, and well placed kick Sam floored his would be assassin and made a break for the far exit barely covered by two of the followers.

It was now or never. With serene gracefulness, his enemies simultaneously pulled back their hoods, revealing the decaying remains of flesh on bone. Hollow white braced for Sam's charge and with a warrior's grunt Sam barreled their line. The formerly quiet room morphed into one of battle. Loud voices of confusion and anger drowned out Sam's frantic struggle.

At long last, the skeletal bodies presented him with an opening, and with lightening quickness Sam capitalized on it, ducking and sliding his slender frame between the two dusting remains. He rose to break into a victorious run when a force, unlike anything he'd ever felt, gripped every inch of him and threw him backwards.

A loud thud echoed in the hall to the accompaniment of Sam's hollowed scream when the boy's body was brought down onto the altar with crushing speed. Stunned silence encompassed the room yet again as Sam's deep, heaving breaths punctuated the air. Slow, light footfalls clipped against the stone, and Sam rolled his head to catch a glimpse of the one who'd onslaught his agony.

"Bind him." The steeled order chilled his core. He recognized the voice, the smallest pained whimper escaping his lips at what was to come from his torturer.

"Father Andrew?" Sam's piqued at the hesitative question presented by one to his left, and he grunted his longing and gratitude for the interruption. _Maybe…oh God, maybe…_

"Bind him." Fury occupied Andrew's words, and before Sam could even offer a fight or even a buck against the bonds, strong arms pinned him unmoving, and set to work. The only movement allowed him was the panicked turning of his head as Sam watched his captors fingers, bony and lacking skin, secure the knots.

A firm hand grasped his chin and forced his face forward. Milky skin stained red greeted Sam's brown eyes, bearing a heinous smile twisted by the slacken jaw, unhinged and broken. Rotting teeth clattered in anticipation and a skinless wrist snapped for the other brethren to abandon their position, their job completed. Glassy orbs locked onto Sam, flickering malice and sickening excitement. A stream of garbled words flooded from the evil being, but it was enough. Sam understood, and shuddered under the threatening gaze.

"Prepare for the sacrifice. And get the brother! I will break them both."

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_Alright lemme know what you think! And thanx for riding this out and reading and reviewing..._


	17. Escape

_A/N: Again...apologies for the delay. And y'all can thank KC for kicking my ass and helping merelocate mydirection and focus._

* * *

Chapter 17

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Sam felt the coarse binds grinding into his skin with every attempted move he made to evade his current predicament. Those bastards may be decrepit, but they sure as hell knew how to tie a man down, and now he was not only helpless but also useless if the time came to act. All he could do was wait in strained silence for the return of the men Father Andrew commissioned to retrieve his brother.

"Father Andrew?" Sam rolled his head towards the direction of the meek voice and watched as the hunched figure slowly approached.

"What is it, my son?" The priest's voice had returned to the very same soothing, comforting one it had held the day Sam and Dean had first entered the cathedral, and its resonance sent shivers through the younger's body.

A hesitant pause followed the question before the man's response was heard. "The congregation is here, sir."

"Are they?" Father Andrew murmured rhetorically.

Sam's eyes widened considerably as the priest's dilemma became apparent and mocked it. "Don't you just hate those second services?"

The cocky grin he'd seen all too many a time grace the face of his brother became his own for a brief moment, only to be forced off his features when a smack across his jaw sent his head careening to the right, smashing into the stone table. The priest's rotting face filled his blurry vision. "It would do you well to remain silent."

The dark-haired boy nodded shakily, and startled when an approaching thud and muffled voices echoed in the chamber. Sam willed his eyes to focus, but wished they hadn't when he'd seen the source.

Two followers dragged his brother's body along the crypt floor, their gnarly boned fingers digging into the stark red flesh of Dean's wrist. The raw skin bled with new intensity under the constant scratching pressure and the scarlet drops dripped unceremoniously to the ground beneath. What scared, damn frightened, Sam was the hero brother he'd always known wasn't fighting. Dean was completely still.

"What the hell did you do to him?" Sam demanded furiously, raising his head and chest as far as he could off the altar and staring down Father Andrew's solid white eyes.

An evil smirk tugged at the priest's lips as he approached Dean's lax form instructing his followers to drop him. They obeyed forcefully pushing the older Winchester down to the floor, and Sam yelled out against it when the resounding crack of skull on stone could be heard. "The better question, Samuel, is what am I _going_ to do to him. And more importantly…you."

"Do what you want to me! Leave him alone!" Sam demanded desperately, tears burning in his eyes at the thought of Dean dying on his account. That was not a guilt trip he would ever embark on even if it meant dying first. And Sam, in the deepest resources of his mind, always knew, accepted, he would.

"I will do what I please, Samuel." Father Andrew replied firmly and then summoned his followers and fellow priests to him. "We must adjourn and return to our flock for now. My congregation has gathered and yours will soon. Return the instant you have finished. We haven't much time."

Reverently, the hooded men bowed their heads and moved to obey. Each one passed by Sam and silently laid a hand over the symbol etched into his chest. Pain flared each time, and Sam gulped down his surprise and agony as each follower removed their hood and looked for lack of a better term—normal. Like men. The deteriorating skin and slackened jaws reshaping and hinging back to its former and rightful place. Eyes, glassed and vacantly white, developing irises of brilliant color.

"Remain here." Father Andrew ordered to one of the last remaining cloaked figures, "Watch them. Leave the other unbound, but don't underestimate his weakness."

"Yes, sir." The servant replied and waited until all members had parted and the grating of the door closing was heard before removing his cloak. Sam literally gasped at his appearance.

It was neither rotted, nor covered with lesions, but almost beautiful. The man's pale skin radiated in the dim firelight and long strands of blonde hair brushed his cheeks. Eyes of crystal blue were welcomed in place of the stark white that had held every other man's gaze. Sam didn't see malice or purpose in the man's stare, but pity as a sad smile crossed the follower's face as piercing eyes took in Sam's state as if seeing the boy for the first time.

"What the—?" Sam started, only for the man to raise a hand to silence him and then turn toward Dean's body, "Don't touch him! What the hell are you doing?"

"Helping him breathe." The man replied tersely, hooking his arms under Dean's own to lift the slack body to rest in a sit against the wall. "Unless you'd rather him choke on congestion. He's wheezing pretty bad."

Sam's face gave away his confusion and the man continued. "He has a cold or the flu, right?"

"Like you care." Sam spat, beginning to wage war with the ropes again. He could tend to his own brother, thank you very much, and didn't need some psychotic doing it for him.

"Actually, I do. I was hoping this would happen." The priest replied. His eyes locked on Sam's before moving towards the bound man and he immediately set his fingers to work on the knots.

Sam gaped, stunned, and fought against the man's actions in unhindered fear. "W-what?"

"Stop. I'm trying to help you." And as if to prove his statement, Sam felt his right leg slump free over the edge of the altar. "But you have to help me."

"Fine. Whatever. Get me off this thing," Sam urged, not even considering the stakes as his thoughts currently lay with his brother.

The man had issued him a stern look, but heeded his request and progressed faster. When the last of his bonds were broken, Sam jumped off the altar, stumbling on unsure legs, towards Dean.

"Hey, Dean…Dean?" Sam ran his fingers along his brother's hairline searching for the jagged cut he expected to find after the priest's had dropped him, but nothing but a swelling lump occupied Dean's forehead. "Can you wake up for me?"

Dean's shallow wheezing was deafening and Sam turned troubled, hateful eyes to his rescuer. "What did they do to him?"

"They didn't do anything, they found him like that." The reply was clipped, but still held a fraction of gentleness. Sam's frown deepened and he was beginning to wonder if that tone was a requirement for priesthood in Atchison along with the whole 'we kill for immortality' bit.

"He wasn't this bad when I left him." Sam argued, feeling his brother for any broken bones or added injuries he hadn't known about, the sagging loll of his brother's head doing nothing to reassure him.

His helper sighed audibly and then firmly replied. "Yes, he was."

Sam ignored the response and continued brushing Dean's sweaty hair, swallowing nervously at the fire burning the ashen skin and uttering a liturgy of request for him simply to wake up. "He needs a hospital."

"Not my problem." The follower snapped, and Sam cringed at the heat behind the words. "So, you have two options. You can leave him here, or you can carry him with you, but either way, you are going to help me."

Sam nodded his compliance but forcefully replied. "I'm not leaving him."

"Fine." The man agreed quickly, but didn't move to help Sam when the younger brother worked to rest Dean against him, draping his older brother's arm around his neck and placing an arm around Dean's torso to steady him. "If he slows us down--"

"He won't." Sam refuted and quickened his step as the man led them out into the maze of corridors.

Dean was heavy, and the added weight was steadily becoming a burden as their escape continued. The carved hallways were long and narrow, and sweat soaked every inch of Sam's shaking body as he dragged his brother along with him, Dean's haggard short breaths flooding in his ear pushing him onward against the flaring burn of his tired and worn muscles.

Suspicion rose in Sam once the blonde man turned down another dark corridor and he demanded an explanation. But got nothing in response.

The dark-haired Winchester wondered if this deal he made would result in everything he'd tried to avoid thus far. Pain. Betrayal. Death. All of it seemed more tangible now that escape and freedom were in sight. He'd trusted a complete stranger—a follower no less. Sam figured it probably was a good thing Dean was out of it, otherwise he'd never hear the end of his stupidity.

Just as Sam was about to call a quit to the whole charade himself, the man came to a stop. "Here."

"It's a wall. You lead me to a friggen' stone wall!" Sam screamed angrily, and the man smacked a hand over the boy's mouth.

"Shut up and listen." The man hissed and waited for Sam to oblige before removing his hand and turning back to the wall. He shoved against the wall and Sam's eyes blinked against the small streams of light peering through. "This leads out behind the cathedral, to the parking lot. You're car is there, yes? The black one?"

Sam's face scrunched in slight shock at the extent of their guide's knowledge. "You're brother drives like a maniac."

"Oh." Sam laughed and proceeded to move forward, but was stopped again.

"Pay close attention." Sam nodded and tried to give his best 'I'm completely focused' face. It must've worked because the man finished his instructions for Sam's repayment. "There is a book hidden beneath the driver's seat, Father Charles placed it there earlier. A page is marked bearing an incantation and the ritual accompanying it. Go to the Marder's Clearing and perform it there. Tonight."

"What does it do?" Sam whispered, fear creeping into his heart at what the proposition may hold and he cursed silently for not demanding an answer before.

"It removes the vessel's powers and places them in another. The name is written for you." Sam stared at the follower for a moment, gasping as revelation claimed him. He'd agreed to help this man only to make him Father Andrew's successor.

"No." Sam denied, shaking his head, "This has to end."

"You will do this!" The man commanded, his eyes wild with rage. "It has to be you!"

"Why?" Sam pressed meeting the blonde's hard gaze.

"Because you are chosen!" the man snapped as if that explained it all, "It has to be a pure soul only the chosen are known to truly have."

"I'm not a pure soul. It won't work." Sam countered with a scoff, his mind racing back to every horrible thing he'd ever committed and then Jess.

"The mark says differently." The follower replied and then opened the stone door fully, beckoning for Sam to embrace the freedom presented.

"How do you know I'll do it?" Sam asked curiously with the hint of a threat as he edged himself and Dean over the threshold and onto the small patch of gravel lot.

"We take the chosen to the clearing after the sacrifice. It will be where Father Andrew will try to draw you once he finds you are missing. That is why you must complete the ritual soon, before he latches hold. Either way, we'll find you and depending on the circumstances--kill you." The man finished smugly, a smirk clouding his lips, "Besides, are you really willing to let Dean suffer for your disobedience?"

Sam shifted Dean's unconscious body protectively closer to him and watched the man close the wall back up before trudging painstakingly slow to the shining Impala. The priest were nothing but thorough and Sam found the Impala keys in the driver's door. Hurriedly, Sam unlocked the back door and laid Dean out along the backseat, frowning still at the lack of movement and clammy skin.

The instant the engine gunned, Sam leaned forward and pulled the leather bound book from its hiding place and threw it in the passenger seat. Guilt clenched Sam's heart as he drove towards the closest hospital he could find. Realization of what he had agreed, and what he would do gnawed at his core.

It was trade. His life and Dean's for what could be countless others--all innocent. He'd bargained freedom and a hospital trip for that--and that alone. It was blood on their hands and wrong—so wrong. The only comforting thought Sam could muster revolved around the fact that it was a good thing his brother was still unconscious and unable to adamantly refuse.

The only thing was he had never wanted to hear Dean's advice more.

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_Okay not my best...hopefully not my worst. haha. But thoughts are always welcome as well as concrit. Thanx for reading and lemme know what you think..._


	18. Decisions and Regrets

_Again, I apologize for the wait...I hope this proves worth it._

Cryptic Chapter 18

Decisions and Regrets

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Long legs conquered tile as Sam half-ran down the hospital corridor where his brother now resided. The large blue door assigned the correct, identifying numbers a sympathetic nurse had revealed to him earlier loomed directly ahead and as he neared it, Sam tried desperately to forget just exactly how many times he'd been here before.

Albeit, not this particular hospital, but damn if he hadn't relived the terrifying ordeal of unanswered questions, stiff doctors and tense waiting rooms more times than he could count. Each time it sickened him, and each time the situation was more tumultuous than the last. He often wondered if the day would come where his fragile, frayed nerves would just wear out completely.

Sam reached out a nervous, sweaty hand and quietly cracked the door open. They had told him Dean was resting, and little brother knew far too well what a grumpy Dean was like. Why he was worried about that at the moment was a mystery to him, and became a greater one when Dean's lax, bruised body came into view.

He was thankful, at least, that Dean didn't have plastic crammed down his throat, but rather loosely placed under his nose, the tubing looping over his ears. Not that it mattered, its presence regardless screamed his brother's apparent dependence and as much as Sam hated to admit it, after everything they'd been through, times such as these became surreal. To Sam, this was nothing but an elaborate play scripted for his personal horror and inevitable guilt trip to follow, all set to the soundtrack of a shrill beeping heart monitor.

Sinking into the ever present, plastic chair always placed only a few feet away, Sam couldn't help but scoff at the reminder that he was sidelined and condemned to do nothing but wait for Dean to give a sign he was okay, that they were okay. He wasn't going to get it in the five minutes he now had to spare thanks to the doctors long examination and placement of Dean. That didn't mean he wasn't going to hope for it.

Sam's long fingers absently traced the cracking worn edge of the small book his 'rescuer' had entrusted to him, his eyes never leaving Dean's black eyes and the bruise that marred his brother's temple both equally jarring against the ashen skin. Resigned to simply watch Dean's struggle on the verge of consciousness, Sam gulped down the urge to ramble and rather studied the sight before him.

Head trauma. Exhaustion. Heavy congestion in his right lung. The doctor's monotone, clipped list droned a reprise in Sam's mind, sounding all the more forbearing the second time around. It was with suspicion and accusation that the elderly professional relayed his diagnosis, treatment, and potential problems to consider. The entire discussion bore the question of 'what the hell kind of brother are you to not have noticed this sooner?' and Sam found himself at a loss for answers.

A part of him had wanted and still wanted to escort the portly man outside and show him what kind of brother he was, but a larger part craved the mound of guilt attributed with the insinuation. For all he had agreed to in urgency that no doubt would remain a secret of the ages, he deserved to be under a scrutinizing, judgmental eye. Didn't matter whose it was at the moment.

But as usual, he hadn't foreseen everything that could come out of that man's mouth and almost succeeded in breaking under the pressure when the jackass excuse for a medical degree had the audacity to ask if his brother was suicidal as the deep cuts and scratches adorning Dean's tender wrist resembled a botched hack job. Somehow, the sarcastic excuse that his brother was 'into that kind of thing' didn't seem to fit but neither did 'oh, well, he was chained to the wall by the psycho priest next town over'.

The talk of psychological help ended the conversation on Sam's end all together. He didn't have time to waste on some half-ass reason to interrogate his brother, so he opted for the stern refute and the gesture of nearly knocking the insensitive prick over as he barreled past him. All that effort to end up where he now sat; left to his own thoughts and gazing at his brother's beaten body and the stark white bandages covering his torn wrists.

Idle fingers found their way back to the worn parchment pages of the ancient text, the telling page holding their fate loosely dog-eared. Sam traced the small triangle for a bit before opening the text completely and exposing the folded piece of notebook paper he'd crammed therein.

He'd had plenty of time in the waiting room, and in his mind, things were as thought out as they were going to be. Sam was determined to do the right thing, but at the same time right's a matter of perspective. He knew that--he just hoped Dean did as well.

The fact that Nebraska still hung over both their heads like a damn thundercloud didn't do much to ease Sam's decision making process. But now Sam was Roy and Sue Anne rolled into one, and he had to decide who lived and who died. Dean would probably never see this all his way, but maybe he'd understand why…it was all Sam could hope for.

With uneasy grace, Sam rose from his place and removed the creased slip of paper from its holding place. Wordlessly, he lifted Dean's still hand and set the page beneath it, then let his fingers wander up Dean's arm and face until they found the short spikes of sandy-blonde.

Sam blinked away the stinging, burning sensation surging behind his eyes and bent down over his brother until his face was inches from Dean's own, his pools of brown intently staring into the lidded green of his brother's willing them to open. He sighed heavily, wearily, as he resigned to take this moment over none at all, and in the solemnest of whispers Sam muttered the truest statement he'd said in weeks.

"I'm sorry."

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The crisp air hung through the clearing, and Sam shivered, not only against it, but at the gnawing cold laying hold of his stomach. Rubbing his arms furiously to ward off the chill, the dark-haired Winchester surveyed the priest's sacred place.

He had to admit, his 'rescuer' was nothing but thorough. Everything had been set according to ordinance. Seven stones, almost hidden by the overgrown grass and weeds, created a circle. Each one stained with a red mark, bearing a meaning Sam was unsure of and really didn't care to know. The center held St. Anthony's Cross, and according to the text it was there he was to begin.

Sam swayed as he entered the circle. The fire of his own mark, once forgotten, flared with renewed power as he took his place in the center of the cross. Once settled to the ground, legs crossed, Sam opened the text, swallowing convulsively when the scarlet name scrawled into the chant was laid bare for all to see and waiting for his utterance of it.

His life had come to this. Dean's life would be decided by this. It was that in mind, Sam hung his head, shouldering the weight of his brother's life and innocents he would never know on his hunched shoulders and did what he thought right.

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The surrounding darkness blinked into ash gray before stark white met Dean's blurry, puffy eyes. A steady beep rang in his ears and while it should've been a clue to his current environment, his brain made no connection as Dean stared on in a dazed fog at the ceiling above him.

This wasn't the crypt. He knew that. The air was different here. It wasn't thick, or rank with death. Instead, it was sharp and familiar in a 'what the hell' kind of way. Antiseptic would be Dean's last choice for air freshener. The beeping, the white, the smell…it could only mean one thing but how had he got there.

Last thing he could remember was Father Andrew's cronies coming in and ripping off the chains from his wrist, taking a layer of skin with it. As if sparked by the memory, he sensed the dull pain lacing up his arm, and Dean lifted his head heavily, huffing frustratingly when he saw the white bandages covering his wounds and the IV insert.

Dean let his head fall back down to the stiff pillow, and attempted to lull it over to his left where he knew there'd be a chair, and he knew someone would be waiting for him to wake up probably worried and clucking like a mother hen. The before mentioned person was going to get his ass kicked. One, for putting big brother in the hospital without consent, and two, for taking out the bad guys without Dean's help which he was going to pay for because Dean had every intent on making Sam tell the story until he was blue in the face.

However, nothing but an empty plastic chair occupied Dean's room. For a brief instant, he felt panic building, but with years of hospital experience under his belt, and a Winchester through and through, Dean took a deep breath and waited. Sam probably went to the bathroom, or to get some coffee or…something.

As the minutes ticked on, Dean couldn't help but notice that the chair didn't look like it'd been resided in recently, and nothing uniquely Sam cluttered any part of the room. Wide green eyes latched onto the door, and with willful determination Dean commanded it to open and let his brother in. Sam had to be here. He wouldn't leave him alone. Again. He wouldn't.

Dean's heart thudded rapidly, the terrified rhythm pulsating in his ears and ringing from the monitors stuck to his chest. Father Andrew had wanted Sam and Sam wasn't here. He failed. God, he failed. Sam was gone. Not here. Not with him. Father Andrew could still …. Dead…oh god, Sam could be dead. How else would anyone know to look for him in the crypt or find him and bring him to the hospital unless they'd found another body…

And he was up, sort of. Half-hunched, and teetering dangerously over the edge of the bed, Dean hoarsely called out for his brother. His body shook with effort and soon the rasping cough that had plagued him earlier returned causing his entire being to shudder. He moved to stand, but a firm hand from behind stopped him.

Dean flicked crystalline jade to the vice holding him to the bed. Long, fake nails painted with a neat French manicure were pressing lightly into his skin as the nurse's soothing voice tried to reach Dean's deafening ears as the erratic heart monitor beeped incessantly. "You need to calm down, honey. Just breathe. Okay. Breathe."

"S-sammy?" Dean heaved weakly, his chest rising sharply and falling deeply with each strained breath as he tried to jerk free from the woman's hold, "Where's…where's….let me go."

"I can't do that not until you calm down." The blonde replied gently, but firmly, as she adjusted his hold on Dean to better aid him in settling back onto the bed. But Dean was having none of it.

"I want my brother!" He demanded and fought harder. Sammy needed his help, and damn if some chic thought she could stop him. Another round of coughing spasms seized him before any progress could be made, and the nurse capitalized on it in a flash, quickly adjusting the bed and resting Dean in a sit.

"It's okay, you're okay. There you go, just breathe." The liturgy of encouragement and reassurance coupled with the woman's soft voice proved its worth, and Dean shakily steadied his breathing. "Good, now that wasn't too hard was it?"

Dean licked his lips, his face desperate, "Sam?"

"I don't know who that is, sweetie." The nurse answered honestly, lightly patting Dean's knee before heading over to retrieve a cup and water for Dean, "Here you go. Drink slow now. I'm Tracy, one of the nurses assigned to this floor and you're at St. Paul's Memorial."

Dean wrapped his cracked lips around the small straw and sipped carefully letting the cool water ease his burning throat as he processed the information. "How'd I get here?"

"A young man brought you in. Didn't stay too long though." Relief washed over Dean's face, and the change was noticeable enough for Tracy to rush to the man's side yet again to ensure that another escape attempt wasn't in store.

"Sam. He's my brother." Dean smiled weakly, tears welling in his eyes at the news his brother was very much alive although he totally blamed the drugs pumping through him. The expression faded when he registered the rest of what Tracy was trying to tell him. "Wait…where'd he go?"

"I don't know." Tracy replied, taking the cup from Dean and setting it down on the tray, "But I found this when I did rounds earlier. I think he left it for you."

"Oh," Dean muttered and lifted his arm as much as he could to take the small folded piece of paper Tracy handed to him. "Thanks."

"No problem," Tracy smiled warmly and locked eyes with Dean, "Rest up, okay? And don't worry, I'm sure…Sam, I'm sure he'll come back. He seemed really worried about you."

"He does that a lot. Worry, I mean." Dean mumbled, gently unfolding the paper.

"Brothers tend to."

Dean nodded in agreement, and watched the nurse exit the rooms before letting his eyes fall to the scrawled writing staining the lined paper.

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Lemme know what you think...and thanx for the patience!


	19. End of the Line

_A/N: So we come to the end of it. Thank you guys all for reading and reviewing! It means a lot that you've stuck along for the ride. Hopefully this is well suited ending, and plz comment on it freely or the entire story as you will._

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Chapter 19

End of the Line

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Fierce wind swept into the confines of the clearing, its force pressing Sam closer to the ground with each raging blow of Latin falling from his lips. His very skin felt alive, the ancient words creating a stinging sensation along every inch of him. The last word spoken preceded a pained cry as Sam's chest flared mercilessly.

Tears sprung into his eyes as the agony intensified to the drumming pulse of his heart, as a power entered him then surged through and out from him. Desperately, he prayed for end. It came, no more than seconds later, with a buzz of sonic proportions and a wave of dizziness that left him stranded in the dark confines of the unknown.

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Dean adjusted himself in the firm bed, allowing the hospital blanket to pool unceremoniously at his feet regardless of the fact that he was chilled to the bone. He had neither the desire nor ability to pick it back up and replace it where it belonged over his aching body. His mind was elsewhere, his attention wholeheartedly focused on the crinkled paper clutched so tightly it nearly tore within his grip.

The elder brother swallowed thickly, repeatedly, as his brother's scribbled penmanship swam before his eyes.

_Dean,_

_So you either want to kill me right about now, or you have so many questions as to how the hell you're here and not chained to some wall that you figure you can always kill me later._

_I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up, but I figure the hospital will probably give me a call when you do seeing as you'll either make a run for it or take someone out in the process trying to get to me. Just don't do anything stupid, okay? The doctor said you're really sick so rest, you need it, whether you think you do or not. Don't worry about me. You shouldn't have to._

_I don't really know the best way to explain all this. So, I'm just going to say it. I made a deal, Dean. That's how we got out of the crypt alive, and I agreed to it without even hearing the stakes. _

_Yeah, I know, that's got to be Winchester Rule #21 or something, but Dean, I didn't have a choice. There was this priest, one of Father Andrew's followers I guess. He must've trusted him, 'cause he left both of us in the man's care. Next thing I know, the guys checking on you, and untying me saying that if I do what he wants he'll let us go. _

_All he wanted me to do was read this chant which that will transfer Father Andrew's power to him so he can just keep on doing what he's doing. As if, immortality wasn't enough of a power trip, the guy has to be over them all._

_We were so screwed, Dean. I just acted. I'm trusting this guy to come through for us. He says he'll let us go, let us live. But if something goes wrong, get out as soon as you can. You're not the only brother who would die to save the other you know. Don't come back looking for me, I'll probably be gone; I doubt they'd leave me there. If you do find me, bury me next to Jess. It's all I ask._

_Sam_

The fingers that had clung so tightly fell limp and useless as Dean read over and over again his brother's retelling and decision until the words were burned onto his eyes. It was long, longer than any of Sam's semi-long explanations of why he's on a coffee run notes that big brother teased him relentlessly for because hell, if they weren't adults and notes weren't for married, whipped men. This one wasn't long enough to satisfy Dean or unnecessarily simple in the least, and the last couple of lines held him spellbound.

It wasn't rage that built inside, but nothing short of sorrow, grief, and guilt over the decision his brother had been forced to make--a decision with big brother in mind. Dean had been made a similar decision more than a few times in his hunting career, and he understood the internal struggle. But, still, this was one he had hoped Sam would never be forced to make and burning wetness stung behind jade at the knowledge that his brother indeed had made a choice.

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Owl eyes blinked away the terrifying black and squinted against the dim sky painted an array of pink, gold, and lightest blue. Sam scrunched his face in annoyance as he sharp blades of green had formed a new layer of skin on his face. With deliberate slow movements, Sam eased himself up onto his elbows, rubbing the side of his face that had planted itself in the ground, hoping and praying it wasn't red and lined with grass marks.

The throbbing ache that had once inhabited his head faded with each blink as Sam entered further consciousness, and the searing agony all but dulled instantly. For a moment, the dark-haired man considered himself dead. The air was too still, too quiet and nothing but peaceful serenity appeared before him.

Years of hunting informed him otherwise, and Sam's mind quickly pieced together the familiar scenery and the reason he was now there. Alert in every way, Sam rose to feet, his eyes darting around the circle, and his stance demanding whoever could be lying hidden and waiting for him to come out and offer challenge.

When it seemed that all possibility of threat was gone, Sam heaved a sigh of relief and a manic laugh broke from him lips. It was over.

Hurriedly, Sam made his way outside the circle, ignoring the pile of ash and jarred shards of bones covered slightly by the black of a priests robe that remained of the man he'd given up in exchange for life. He had to get to Dean. He had to make sure they were truly safe.

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Dean idly flipped through the channels, finally deciding that Rebecca and Steve's love child, who really belonged to Rick, was far more interesting than any segment of Masterpiece Theatre. Before the truth could be revealed and the horrifying acting could be seen, his soap experience was cut short when his nurse walked in, a smile on her face.

"You're looking better today," The blonde praised sweetly as she proceeded to check Dean's stats.

Dean smirked wirily. "So I can leave right?"

"Nope, sorry, honey. Doctor says a couple more days of rest and observation." Hearing Dean's irritated groan, the nurse quickly continued, "But you have a visitor."

"Who?" Dean inquired anxiously. He only knew one person it could be, but that didn't mean he was right and while he hoped he was, disappointment always proved the bitch.

Tracy smiled widely. "Same guy that brought you in. You're brother, right? Sam."

Dean's face was a myriad of emotions and the blonde struggled to make out just how her patient was taking the news when the heart monitor sped up slightly. "Why didn't he just come in?"

"Said he wanted to make sure you would see him." The nurse replied absently, although insinuation was clear in her tone as she jotted down something on Dean's chart before starting to leave. "Should I send him in?"

Dean nodded slowly, nervous hands fumbling with the remote as he attempted to shut off the television. Sam definitely didn't need to know about the soaps thing, for sure. It was bad enough he was in a friggen' gown and hooked up to god knows what.

After a couple of impatiently spent minutes, a familiar head of brown peered into the room, the door cracked slightly ajar, hiding the rest of Sam.

"I can see you, dork." Dean quipped, smirk in place when Sam smiled weakly in return, a small embarrassed blush on cheeks.

Silence reigned for tense seconds as Sam sauntered over and sunk down into the bedside chair, and studied his brother for a moment. "How are you doing?"

"Ready to get the hell out of here," Dean huffed, looking damn near a pout. "And I should be asking you that question."

"I'm fine. Alive." Sam sighed heavily when Dean rolled his eyes, and issued an understanding but firm gaze at his brother, "Just a couple more days here and then we can go."

"Good. This is worse than prison." The older Winchester complained and placed his bed in a more upright position.

"You've never been in prison." Sam exasperated, running tired fingers through his greasy hair. All sense of adrenaline had jumped ship the instant he'd fell into the waiting room chair, and now he was nothing short of exhausted.

Dean shrugged, slightly raising his hands palm up with the gesture. "Maybe not long term, but dude, this is close."

Sam let his head loll back to rest against the high backed chair. "Whatever you say, Dean."

The disinfectant laden air grew tense as both brothers fell into an uncomfortable quiet. One not knowing where to begin, the other desperately hoping they wouldn't.

"So…" Dean drawled a start, "You going to tell me what happened?"

"You know what happened," Sam clipped and proceeded to rub the back of his neck.

Dean scoffed. "Right, 'cause that note you left was damn detailed. Although it was better than any one I ever got in my lunch box."

"What'd you want me to do, huh? You were friggen' unconscious!" Sam blurted out angrily and Dean startled at the force behind the words.

Dean raised his hands in mock surrender. "Dude, calm down. It's okay."

"No, it's not okay." Sam protested and jumped up to start a round of furious pacing.

Dean maneuvered himself into a forward lean the best he could, giving his brother's walking circles his full attention. "We're not doing this."

Sam jerkily came to a stop. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not letting you guilt trip about this." Dean explained authoritatively. He knew where that could get you, and he'd be damned to watch his brother travel down that road while he was on duty. "You said it yourself. You didn't really have a choice."

"So, this doesn't bother you? Not in the least? I was in Nebraska too, Dean. You were pissed over Marshall and that was just one person. I just allowed these guys to keep on killing people, a lot of people." Sam demanded bitterly, his face red with frustration and irritation at the lack of response he was getting from his brother.

Dean held up a hand to stop Sam's rant. "What are you talking about, Sam?"

"That chant just gave the power to another man. One equally as evil as Andrew. They need their "chosen" to survive and keep their immortality …I told you that, I thought. All I did was save our own asses. I mean, they are just going to keep choosing their victims and killing them. I let them do that, Dean. I didn't stop them." Sam's strained voice echoed in the sterile room, the resentment and guilt clearly apparent.

"There was no way you could've, Sam." Dean assured, his face set with determination.

Sam snapped his head towards Dean, his eyes lit with protest. "You don't know that."

"Sam…"

"C'mon, Dean, yell or something. I know you. How the hell can you be okay with the decision I made?" Sam wasn't expecting Dean to literally kill him, but he hadn't expected this nonchalant behavior either. If anything he thought pissed, but understanding, not cool and collected. But then again, this was Dean.

"Because you seemed to be okay with your decision in that note, Sam, and I trust you to make the right call." Dean pointed out smoothly.

Sam dropped down onto the foot of Dean's bed. "I was trying to convince myself it was the right thing to do."

Dean nodded knowingly. "It was."

"How do you know?" Sam questioned earnestly, his brown orbs wide and clear windows into his guilt ridden soul.

"We do a lot of good, Sam. Save a lot of people. But sometimes we have to save ourselves." Dean murmured quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

Sam sat stunned for a moment, his vocal cords temporarily paralyzed by his brother's revelation, "This from the guy who jumps in between every evil thing and its prey."

"There's a difference." Dean replied sternly as if Sam should be able to see it and recognize it, but Sam's face was nothing but blank confusion. "You got to know when you're beat, Sammy. When we're there, with all the ammo we need, there's something we can do. But if you only got one escape plan, you got to use it."

"Yeah, but that wasn't all of it. I mean, it was strangers against family. And there was no way in hell I was picking strangers." Sam admitted quietly, his head drooping slightly.

"Been there." Dean sighed, and Sam lifted his head, mouth opening to question the confession further, "We're so not going there, Sam. I'm chic flicked out for the day."

"You probably need to rest anyway." Sam stated, smirking when Dean rolled his eyes.

"Have you checked the mirror lately?" Dean retorted and laughed openly when Sam ran his fingers self-consciously through his hair.

"I was under a lot of stress, man, cut me some slack." Sam joked, mocking offense.

"If this is what you looked like under stress at Stanford, you're lucky you even had a girlfriend." Dean shook his head in feigned wonderment that his brother had landed the one and only Jess. "The only bonus for you is that you got that spiffy tattoo now."

Sam smirked satisfactorily, "It's gone."

Dean looked up at Sam with disappointment. "Damn, and I was gonna get a matching one."

"So you admit you want to be like me?" Sam asked coyly, his eyebrows raised and his posture cocky.

"And have to work to get laid? Hell no." Dean's smug smile faded as Sam got up and retreated back to the abandoned chair.

"It's called 'hard-to-get'" Sam clarified, bringing his legs up to his chest and attempting to shift into a comfortable position in the chair.

"It's called being a dorky jolly green giant." Dean shot back, hurling the extra blanket at Sam's head.

"Whatever, dude." Sam replied through a yawn, his eyes drooping tiredly. "Now shut up so I can go to sleep."

"Great…'cause now I'll be able to hear Mark declaring his undying love to Virginia," Dean muttered sarcastically, as he flicked the TV back on, lowering the volume a bit for Sam's benefit.

It didn't take long for Dean to get drawn into the repetitive motion of constant flipping through all of six channels, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when Sam's voice broke his haze "Dean?"

Dean flicked his gaze to Sam quickly before looking back at the Lifetime television moment playing on channel 5. "Yeah?"

"I'm…uh…I'm glad you're alright." Sam muttered, his eyes looking at the blanket and not his brother.

"Alright, Oprah, neither one of us is dying yet. Go back to sleep." Dean snarked, but flashed Sam a smile that was returned before the younger shut his eyes yet again. Dean waited until Sam's chest fell into a sleeping rhythm before returning the sentiment. "Thanks for saving me."

Dean could've sworn he heard Sam murmur something akin to 'what I'm here for' and turned his attention back to the program. They were going to make it, live to see another day, save people, hunt things. He had no doubt that the followers had moved on to another place by now, but maybe one day they'd meet up again, finish the job they started.

He'd let Sam take that one on, blow the bastards to bits if he wanted. Little brother deserved it after all this that was for damn sure. Dean flicked off the TV, and sunk into the bed, shutting his eyes against the white walls and beeping monitors. They'd be out of here soon enough. Sam and him on the road again, ridding the world of terror one Podunk town at a time.

Sometimes they would win, sometimes not, and other times escape as narrowly as possible, but hey, that was the job. As long as Sam was there to back him up, Dean wouldn't have it any other way.

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_Okay lemme know what you thought! and thanx again for reading!_


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